Wake The Hope
by lemonjelly
Summary: It’s 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? [WS with GCR moments and a major case] Final Update: Rosa Avery's Letter.
1. Knock Knock

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Thank you to all the reviewers of my last stand-alone (yes, it is a stand-alone) 'Unless'. Again, a whole bunch of truly fantastic reviews from people kinder than I probably deserve so I'm thanking y'all – csi-sam-sanders, Kelly, Cheryl, Megara1, sidle girl, fredchester (pleased to see a budding fic up from you there), Joyce and Joyce3 (are you not one and the same person?), MissyJane, nick55, icklebitodd (thanks for reviewing NorthWest, too), Aleja21, iwantboromir and Review1234 (who I've been waiting to return from holiday until I posted up.) Feedback is greatly loved as you can clearly see. Who _doesn't _like feedback?**

**This is my epic-long fic. You'll soon see, I do love my quotations here. And, before I forget, for all GCR fans – if you're coming here in search of a GCR fix, you'll have to trawl through a lot of WS first. If you don't want to do this, hold out until about chapters 12, 13 and 16 where I reckon I'll be putting in the main bulk of the GCR. Yes, it's a long fic.**

**And one last thing (future A/Ns will NOT be this long, I promise) – if you like/love writing original fiction, there is a new Live Journal community called "write impulsive" with an underscore between the words. Please do check it out – more people could just make it wonderful. I'll get on with the story now. I hope, more than ever, that it hasn't been the biggest anti-climax. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter One. Knock Knock**

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"_Yet will that beauteous image make_

_The dreary sea less drear_

_And thy remembered smile will wake_

_The hope that tramples fear"_

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

- o -

Jim Brass shields his eyes with a hand as the orange-yellow light from the rising sun glances off the approaching Tahoe. The residents living on the same floor as this morning's victim huddle behind the yellow police tape that flickers slightly in the rare Las Vegas summer breeze. In dressing gowns, they whisper amongst themselves, gossiping and grumbling about how long they have to stand outside – some of them have to get to work in a few hours, you know. Brass knows, but then again, this _is_ his work and he gets this every other day.

"Yo, Brass - where's the DB?" Warrick calls by way of a greeting, strolling up to the apartment block entrance where Brass is standing. He's closely followed by Sara and Grissom, who locks up the car.

"Third floor – apartment 216." Brass gestures up the stairs. Warrick nods, smiles and begins to climb them.

When Sara reaches the third floor not too long after him, Warrick is standing in front of the open door to apartment 216 without going on. She joins him by his side and looks in.

"Huh – killer didn't waste time hiding the body," she comments lightly.

"Nope."

Just a little in from the doorway sprawls the body of a young woman, late twenties, still in her pyjamas with a slashed neck and blood pooled around her.

"You wanna take the hall?" Sara deadpans a rhetorical question; she is already stepping neatly around the body and the blood, setting her kit down on a clear space on the floor. Warrick jerks his head in a nod – it's just another day.

"Katie Taylor, 27. Neighbour found her when passing on the way to work – the door was already open and Katie was already dead, lying out here." Brass' briefing comes. The pair of them, already stuck into their work, hear his voice and the two sets of footsteps, both his and Grissom's, coming down the hall before they see either one.

"Lives alone?" Grissom asks, stepping into the apartment to look more closely at the girl.

"Yup," is Brass' short reply.

"Neighbours hear anything?" Grissom presses, not looking up. Brass flips through his notebook cursorily.

"A lot of crying at about 2 in the morning, although more than one of them have mentioned it sounded more like a baby crying."

"Any babies in the building?"

"Nope. Mostly single young people and the elderly."

Sara puts down her brush from dusting the door for prints.

"Wipe down – over the whole door." she muses, a hint of surprise. "The guy's thorough."

"How do you know it's a guy?" Grissom asks immediately.

Warrick laughs from the doorway and shakes his head at Sara. "Never assume, Sar." he tells her wisely. She rolls her eyes and pokes her tongue out at Warrick.

"I know, I know – sorry."

Grissom sighs a sigh reminiscent of a weary father keeping his two kids in control but Brass only grins at the bickering between the team, the kind of thing he's grown to love being part of, before he heads back down to talk to more neighbours leaving the three of them get back to work and quickly forget about anything else.

-

"I think it's safe to say she died of exsanguination. A smooth blade, like that of a fairly large sized kitchen knife, cut through the chords, the trachea and oesophagus, slashing the left subclavial artery and both anterior and exterior jugular veins." Doc Robbins points at the thick red rift in the victim's white neck. Sara nods.

"Pretty straight forward," she remarks. "Any sexual assault?" He looks at her over his clipboard.

"Yes, quite a violent rape resulting in internal lacerations," he informs her.

"And can we get some DNA off of that?" she asks hesitantly but his answer is as expected.

"Attacker used a condom."

"Great." she mutters and, thanking Robbins vaguely, leaves the room.

-

Warrick rubs his eyes and furrows his brow in concentration. His eyes sting under the artificial light – he needs some sleep soon but sleep tends to be hard to come by when you've got an infuriatingly meticulous rapist and killer stalking the city. It's their second night of working this case and they've gotten nowhere with it still. The other person in the room sighs and tosses the set of photos back onto the table in frustration; Warrick looks up from his own examination of the very little evidence and offers her a half-smile.

"We've got nothing to work with here," she says despairingly. He shrugs, trying to keep optimistic – well, one of them has to.

"Never stopped us before." he comments.

"No prints, no DNA, no forced entry, no CCTV, no witnesses, no fibres," Sara reels off the list in exasperation. "We've had pretty little to work with before, Warrick, but this really is nothing."

"Okay, so it's a tough case," he relents and sighs, himself. "Let's just hope that Nick and Catherine have got something better." Sara rubs the back of her aching neck and slouches tiredly in her chair.

"Or worse," she mutters darkly. Warrick grins, shakes his head and turns back to frown at his work.

-

"What've ya got for me, Al?" Catherine greets as she breezes into the autopsy room.

"Marcia Keating, 30. There was some blunt force trauma to the face pre-mortem, indicative of fists but C.O.D. is exsanguination – smooth blade, most probably a large kitchen knife, sliced through the chords, trachea and oesophagus. Vic bled out through left subclavial artery, anterior and exterior jugular v – " Doc Robbins pauses and narrows his eyes at Catherine.

"What?"

"Déjà vu. Have you spoken to Grissom about this?" He asks. Catherine looks at him carefully.

"No..." she answers slowly and with suspicion. Why would she? She's a supervisor now, just like him.

"He's handling a case exactly like this one – got called in the other night," he explained.

"And let me guess – no prints, no DNA, no forced entry at the scene?" Catherine says, rolling her eyes slightly when he nods. "Oh boy. We've got ourselves a serial rapist."

"A serial killer," Robbins furthers. "Go talk to him about it."

"I'm on it. " Catherine calls back, already heading out of the door. "Thanks Al!"

Doctor Al Robbins stares at the autopsy room doors that swing to a shut after the whirlwind that was CSI Willows. "Anytime," he answers quietly in the empty room and rolls Marcia Keating away into the locked and labelled drawer just below Katie Taylor's.

- o -


	2. At This Time Of Night

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Excellent stuff, reviews. Thank you to icklebitodd, Solaris Sun 2122 (did you ask for that because you dislike her?), dawn2323 (no, I got the hint), Kelly, twinferal, Megara1, Review1234 and cherishedcrush. Feedback is wonderful. **

**Once again – here's me, plugging my Live Journal community for writers. It's called write impulsive (with an underscore between the words). Further details and a real link (gasp!) can be found in my profile. Now on with the show. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Two. At This Time Of Night**

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_Las Vegas looks the way you'd imagine heaven must look at night._

CHUCK PALAHNUICK

- o -

"So what do we know?" Grissom starts off, looking around the table at the team that surrounds it: Catherine on his right side, Greg on his left and Nick, Sara and Warrick opposite.

"Nothing." Greg mutters. Grissom looks at him, a look of horror on his face.

"As long as we have two dead bodies on our hands, we do _not_ know nothing," Grissom answers firmly.

"Sorry," Greg mumbles, kicking Nick under the table for sniggering.

"Well we know both Katie Taylor and Marcia Keating were killed at around 2am on the two separate nights," Catherine begins. "But there was no forced entry or any other ways into the apartments so both women must have let their killers in."

"How do you know the killer wasn't already in the house?" Nick suggests.

"Both lived alone." Warrick points out.

"Could have been a friend sleeping on the couch." Greg offers.

"But if the killer had been staying for a while, there would surely be more prints and more evidence around the house. You can't sleep the night at someone's place without leaving some trace behind," Catherine shakes her head.

"And surfaces were wiped of prints only around the entrance itself – all the rest in the apartment were belonging to the victim; killer didn't go in much more than a few feet," Nick adds.

"Prints on the doorbell?"

"Wiped clean."

"So – the killer rings the doorbell at the early hours of the morning and the vic just lets him in?" Greg frowns.

"Why would you answer the door at 2am?" Catherine wonders out loud.

"Pizza." Nick answers automatically but falls quickly silent when both Catherine and Sara shoot him identical withering looks.

"Because of the crying," Grissom interjects suddenly. "Killer plays a recording of a crying baby and rings the doorbell. Maternal instincts kick in for the victims who go outside, believing a baby has been dumped on their doorstep – they get attacked."

"Which is why he goes for these professional single women in their late-twenties, early-thirties and living alone." Catherine concludes softly.

A silence falls on the room.

Someone coughs.

"Well that description strikes just a little too close to home," Sara speaks up finally, having stayed quiet throughout the debate. She smiles grimly and raises her eyebrows as the rest of the team look round at her. "And the last victim lived two blocks away from my place."

"Do you want to drop the case?" Catherine asks gently.

"What? No, no – no way," Sara shakes her head vehemently. "I was just – I was just saying, that's all."

"Well good," Grissom replies. "We all need to pull together on this one."

-

"You okay?" Warrick sits down beside Sara on the bench in the Locker Room. Sara jumps; she'd been staring at the front of her locker door for ages in the silence and didn't hear him and Nick coming in.

"Huh? Yeah – yeah I'm fine," she runs a hand through her hair and smiles. "I don't know why I said that back there. It really is no big deal."

"We all get cases like that now and then," he tells her reassuringly. "Ones where you think that could've been me. It's okay."

"All the same, Sar – take your automatic back with you tonight," Nick advises as he tugs on his jacket. She nods, holding open one side of her jacket to show her pistol in its holster.

"One step ahead of you there, Nick," she says with a grin. Warrick chuckles and gets up, one supportive hand on her shoulder.

"See? No problem, you've got this sorted Sara. We'll solve this soon enough," he says brightly and opens up his locker.

"Yeah," she answers and then again more assertively: "Yeah, I know. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

As she leaves, a pair of green eyes subconsciously watch her go.

-

It's still dark. Sara opens one eye first and then the other. Turning her head to her nightstand, she feels blearily for her digital watch. 01:20. She groans – why is she awake? And then she sits up suddenly. Her senses slowly get used to being awake and, with sickening realisation, she hears the nearby wail of a baby.

The doorbell rings. Oh crap, there's someone at the door. The baby is still screaming. Sara freezes. She's now fully awake and, stepping hesitantly out of her bed, heart pounding in her throat, she quietly grabs her gun from the holster of her belt on the floor.

Now standing barefoot, back against the wall and gun held in front of her, in her living room she pauses for a moment. She almost thinks of going back, going back to bed and calling Brass or someone. The baby goes on crying; it makes her feel sick to her stomach. Sara stands motionless in personal debate. But what if the guy gets away? What if he just gives up on her and goes for someone else tomorrow night? She shakes herself. Why is she even thinking like this? She's got him, right here, right outside – and she can take him.

Her heart still thumps in her mouth as she edges closer to the front door, hearing the scream of the baby echoing in her ears and growing louder.

She takes a breath or two – trying to steady her nerves.

Just think straight, think rationally, Sara. This is your chance – you can put him away. You're at an advantage; you know what the guy is planning. You know his tactics: it's knife against gun. No chance. She smiles dourly.

The baby's cries are now muffled by the roaring of blood in her ears as she tentatively opens her apartment door.

There is no-one outside.

Sara blinks. She takes another breath. The sound of the baby still fills the hall outside. Perhaps the guy wants her to come out a little more.

Okay.

Right.

Bring it on.

She inches forwards and then, forcing all nervous impulses down, steps out into the hall with more confidence than she feels – and turns, gun pointed, fingers poised.

"Oh my God."

The crying stops.

The hall is silent.

The gun drops with a thud from Sara's trembling white hands onto the floor.

- o -


	3. Little Wonder

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Okay, first off is a warning. I've written pretty far ahead in this and I dislike this chapter. I also dislike Chapters Four and Five, genuinely feeling it's all a load of blehhh until Chapter Six. This, of course, is personal opinion and few would really believe me if I tell you that this isn't me fishing for compliments. It isn't; you're all lovely enough anyway. I'm just making a lame attempt to excuse my own failings – ha ha, just hang on until chapter six! It'll pick up, I promise. Argh – I hope.**

**Thanks for the fantastic reviews though. Eleven reviews for Chapter Two – huh? That must be a personal best. So thank you to Megara1, Kelly, cherishedcrush, icklebitodd, katie, Shelbers, Ladybug07, Review1234, bene, dawn2323 and Charmed-angel4. Sorry for the suspense, guys! But I do love my suspense. Almost as much as I love quotations. Feedback is wonderful, keep 'em coming despite the impending rubbishness! Enjoy (ugh)! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Three. Little Wonder**

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_"Life is all about timing... _

_The unreachable becomes reachable, the unavailable become available, the unattainable...attainable. _

_Have the patience, wait it out. It's all about timing."_

STACEY CHARTER

- o -

Voiceless for a moment, Sara is crouched slightly, aiming her pistol until she finds some words.

"Oh my God." Her voice comes out strangled with a mix of shock and relief.

The crying stops and, nestled in a blanket, a small baby looks into the barrel of her gun with an air of confusion. Sara drops the gun and looks all around her, down the hall. It's empty. No rapist, no murderer – no mother. There's a letter under the baby so she picks it up, reads it briefly before looking at the baby's tear-streaked cheeks and round eyes watching her intently.

"Well," she speaks finally. "I guess you'd better come in then."

She raises an eyebrow when she hears her own words; it was like talking to a business partner rather than a baby.

"This is exactly why I'm no good with kids," she told the baby and picked him gingerly up. When she takes him inside and shuts the door, the baby starts to whimper again. She sits at the table and places him on it.

"What's wrong, Baby?" she asks, surveying the situation. "Are you too hot?" It's the peak of a Nevada summer and the baby is wrapped tightly in a thick blanket.

"That's it – isn't it?" she unravels the blanket and the baby stops crying, stretching his small arms and legs into the air and beaming. That wasn't so tough. Sara can't help but smile.

"This is so weird." she mutters to herself, reading through the letter again and finding, folded behind it, is a birth certificate. His mother, one Rosa Avery, was very thorough apparently. Nathaniel Avery was almost five months old now, having been born on the 8th of February this year weighing 6lbs 10oz.

"So you must be Nathaniel," Sara sits the baby on her lap. "That's a bit of a mouthful, don't you think? Can I call you Nate?"

Nate seems to have no objections and tugs at the hem of her white cotton tank top with tiny fingers, so Sara carries on reading. It all unfolds here. Nate's mother lived a couple of doors down the hall and, so it seems, suffered severe depression. But she'd picked out Sara, actually picked her out, and decided that she would leave Nate with her when she...when she... Suicide – Rosa Avery was committing suicide.

Picking up Nate, she sprints down the hall in the dark silence to apartment 518.

"Mrs Avery?" she calls uncertainly, tapping on the door with a knuckle. It swings open. "Mrs Avery – are you in?"

Nate grumbles faintly and Sara unconsciously comforts him as she creeps further into the apartment. It is dark and it is empty save for a couch, a bed and a run-down crib in the corner. The fridge is empty, electricity and gas both cancelled; Rosa Avery had tied up loose ends before finishing up what she'd planned on doing. She wasn't in and Sara very much doubted her return.

Sara looks down at Nate and then returns to her own apartment to sit back with a sigh, idly letting baby Nate play with her fingers. "What now?"

Nate looks up at her at the sound of her voice and spontaneously breaks into a grin. Sara laughs, actually laughs, and instinctively tickles little Nate until he's laughing too. Then her eye falls back on the open letter on the table and she stops.

"As much fun as that was, baby Nate, I don't know if I can keep this up. And I'll have to call someone and tell them about you," she says seriously. Nate stares blankly at her with his big brown eyes. Sara rolls her own eyes. "I know – it's stupidly complicated, but there's a whole bunch of stuff we need to sort out."

She picks up the phone and, with Nate clinging onto the index finger of her left hand, deftly keys in a familiar number with her right.

"Uh?" the just-woken grunt comes through the receiver. Sara snickers.

"Hey Warrick," she chirps brightly.

"Sara – what time is it?" he mumbles, clearing his throat. She can hear him roll through bedcovers to look at the clock. "It's quarter to 2 in the morning!"

And then it hits him.

"Oh Christ – did something happen? Are you alright? What happened? Sara?" he panics, immediately awake.

"Calm down, Warrick – nothing happened," she pacifies him and then looks at Nate on her lap. "Well, something happened but I'm fine. Could you come over?"

"Sure, sure, anything – right away." He hangs up the phone and stumbles quickly out of bed. Sara smiles, touched by his concern, and puts down the phone.

"There ya go, baby Nate – Warrick's coming over and he'll give us a hand sorting things out," she murmurs to him. "He's good with kids; you'll like him." Nate yawns a toothless yawn.

"Oh so I'm boring you now, am I?" she asks amused. Nate blinks sleepily.

"Okay," she says, cradling him impulsively in her arms. "You go to sleep then and I'll talk to Warrick."

By the time Warrick rings the doorbell, Nate's flat out and still in Sara's arms when she opens the door.

"Whoa." Warrick starts, seeing Sara open the door with a baby in her arms. Sara. And a baby – of all things. "You steal it?"

"Very funny," Sara mutters dryly, standing aside to let him in.

"No wait – don't tell me – it's mine, isn't it?" he grins. Biting back a smile, Sara shakes her head disdainfully.

"You wish. This isn't funny, Warrick – this is really serious." she tells him. He looks at her reproachful expression and nods finally.

"So what's this about? Where did you get the minor?"

Sara hands him the letter wordlessly and, as he reads it, she watches the expression of astonishment grow on his face.

"Man, that's – that's some heavy stuff." Warrick says eventually and peers at the sleeping baby in her arms. "So this is Nathaniel?" Sara nods with a smile.

"But I call him Nate," she replies softly, watching him sleep. "It's easier that way." Warrick looks at her intently.

"Sar – you know we're gonna have to call social services on this one, right?" he reminds her, gently. Sara looks up.

"Oh yeah – yeah, no, of course," she answers firmly, automatically adding: "I'm no good with kids." Though it'd become like a reflex thing to say when on the subject of children.

"Have you got a phone book around?" he asks and Sara gestures to the lowest shelf of her stacked bookcase. She hands him the cordless phone as he flips through pages.

"You want to make the call?" he offers quietly.

"Can you do it? I've kind of got my hands full here, 'Rick." she shifts Nate slightly in her arms as he stirs, latching one small hand around her thumb.

Warrick nods and, dialling in the number, wanders off to a different part of the apartment so not to wake the baby with his phone call. Sara hears his low voice courteously greet the person on the other end of the line and, almost without her realising it, she feels her heart sink just a little.

"They're on their way." he tells her, coming back in and sitting beside her on the couch.

"Thanks, Warrick." she smiles.

"It's no problem," he assures her. "When you called I thought that you'd been..." he trails off, looking at his hands.

"Yeah – when I heard the doorbell I thought so too." she nods understandingly.

"And you still went out there?" he asks, incredulous.

"Well what was I meant to do? Hide in here and hope he goes away? I had my gun – this could've been our chance to get him," she snaps defensively.

"But Sara – Jesus, if anything happened to you, I don't know if I could..."

"Nothing would've happened, Warrick. I had it covered." she tells him fiercely, impatient as ever to prove to him, to everyone, that she could take care of herself. Her voice had risen and, amidst the arguing, Nate begins to sniffle. He opens his wide eyes and fixes Warrick with a stare.

"Hey Nate," he greets with a smile. Nate grabs hold of Sara's top again and sleepily turns his face into her elbow.

"Sorry, baby – go back to sleep," she soothes him, stroking his cheek without thinking. She looks back at Warrick, softened. "Hey, sorry for getting mad at you. I know you're only looking out for me and all that. Although you should really know by now that I don't need it." Warrick laughs slightly.

"I just worry about you, that's all." he says with a shrug.

Sara turned to him, ready to snap back with: "Well don't." but found herself looking at a pair of sparkling green eyes that she'd never really noticed before. Feeling his warm breath on her lips, she forgets what snide remark she was going to say but leans towards him, forgetting everything.

As her eyes close, in that brief second, they are interrupted by the shrill ring of the doorbell for the third time that night.

- o -


	4. A Very Strange 24 Hours

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Evening all. Trust me, I wasn't fishing for compliments when I mentioned how much I dislike Chapters Three-Five, but hey, nevertheless, you all turn up with your reviews about how you like them and I'm crazy. Which was nice of you – I think. But it's totally cool, you can not-like it all you like. I've never got any flames before – I'm intrigued as to what they're like... Is that masochistic? Anyway, thank you, everyone. You're lovely.**

**That applies to the following (ooh, how formal): Megara1, sarafan101, Ladybug07, Joyce3 (you're not ALWAYS last!), icklebitodd (very good question! The only one to ask it, actually – I hope that the letter, which you will get to read eventually, will perhaps convince you of the answer), MissyJane (Joyce3 missed the story too – you are not alone! Heh heh), Review1234 (as always, wonderful), cherishedcrush, JennCorinthos (you really are not the only one – you just need to know where to look!) and Daisyangel. Please check out the Live Journal community, write impulsive (link in profile) if you love writing. On with the show. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Four. A Very Strange 24 Hours**

- o -

_"I saw a bank that said "24 Hour Banking", but I don't have that much time"_

STEPHEN WRIGHT

- o -

Sara jumps back, blinking in a daze.

"That'll be social services." Warrick says in a monotone voice. She nods, smiles and looks down at the sleeping baby. Then she leaps up.

"Oh crap – I'm still in my pyjamas." she realises in horror. "Why didn't you say anything?" Warrick grins.

"It was funnier this way." he teases and she shoots him a furious look.

"Take Nate and get the door," she orders, passing him the baby before dashing off into her bedroom. He only laughs and, gently rocking Nate, opens the front door to let the pair of social workers in.

-

Sara and Warrick stand together in the awkward silence as the social workers assess the situation. Warrick looks at her: she stares straight ahead at the sleeping baby Nate who's been taken from her arms and he gets the feeling that this is a little bit more than just handing over an abandoned baby.

"I see..." one of the social workers comments, poring over the letter and birth certificate. The shorter one flips shut her cell phone.

"Ms Avery was found having hanged herself under a bridge three blocks from here," she announces.

"Well here she very clearly states that she wants you to look after Nathaniel, Ms Sidle. She's got signed documentation from an attorney," the other social worker, a blonde-haired and bespectacled middle-aged man scrutinizes Sara and points at a section of the letter. "Did you have any connection to Ms Avery?"

"No...no, she lived a couple of doors down, but I never really spoke to her," Sara tells them faintly, taking small comfort in the fact that she could still feel Warrick standing at her side.

"Ms Sidle, there is no next of kin for Nathaniel – Ms Avery specifies _you_ to be his guardian in her letter and gives very thorough details – are you sure you don't want to foster him, even for a while?" the female social worker presses.

"I'm no good with kids." comes Sara's habitual reply but she never takes her eyes off Nate who goes on sleeping in the social worker's arms. Suddenly, her own arms feel very cold.

"Well okay," both social workers turn to each other. "We'd better take Nathaniel to the hospital and get him checked out."

"Thank you very much for you help, Ms Sidle – Mr Brown." the blonde social worker smiles, shakes both their hands and the pair of them head to the door with Nate. Nate. She's had him with her for just a few hours, but as she watches them carry him out towards the front door, something wrenches deep inside Sara.

"Wait – can I – uh – can I come along? Just to see he's alright." Sara starts unexpectedly, not knowing quite where the words came from. "And to say goodbye?"

"You don't have to say goodbye, Ms Sidle," the one holding Nate tells her eagerly. "You could try temporary fostering – if it doesn't work out for you, we can find him a new home."

Sara stares at her, overwhelmed by what exactly she's being asked to do. She looks at Nate, at the faces of the social workers desperate to pack off another child and then at Warrick. He shrugs and touches her elbow lightly.

"Sara, if you want to do this – you know you've always got all of us behind you," he assures her gently, speaking for the first time in over an hour. Sara smiles and takes a breath.

"Okay." she says, decisively. She exhales, grins and sticks her hand deep in the pockets of her jeans. "Okay – I'll give it a shot."

-

Grissom scans the faces of the CSIs in the room and pauses before assigning cases.

"Where's Sara today?" he asks, missing a face.

"She asked for the night off, Griss – if that's okay." Warrick speaks up, tiredly. "She – uh – someone dumped a baby on her doorstep last night and she's sort of...fostered him. Got a lot of sorting out to do."

Warrick yawns, not realising that the room has fallen silent and now all eyes are on him.

"You're kidding me, man – seriously?" Nick stares, incredulous. Warrick nodded his head.

"Wait, so Sara opened the door to the sound of a crying baby in the middle of the night last night?" Catherine verifies, looking aghast. "After all of this?"

"Yeah, I know – I had a go at her for it too," Warrick says, rolling his eyes.

"So – so Sara's got a kid now?" Nick asks again. Warrick nods slowly at him but Nick still looks disbelieving.

"Wow."

There's another silence now as the team just sit their in their seats, struggling to picture Sara looking after a baby.

"Right," Grissom pulls himself together with a cough. "Right – cases. We still have the two victims from the serial killer's case that we need to work. The faster we can solve this, the better."

The lab picks up again and sinks back into the regular pace of irregularity.

-

Sara sits back on the floor of her newly-cleared out spare room. It hadn't really had much in it; a desk she never used and boxes full of books that had now been moved to cupboards in her bedroom. Leaning against the wall, she surveys her handiwork: the room, already previously painted in a pale duck-egg blue colour, now had posters, a mobile, a bunch of toys in a chest in the corner, and a new cot and changing table she'd just assembled. She glances at the assembly instructions that came with the packaging and smiles slightly. Perhaps she could handle putting all of the stuff together, but what would she be like when she actually had Nate?

_...Ms Sidle, there is no next of kin for Nathaniel – Ms Avery specifies _you_ to be his guardian in her letter and gives very thorough details..._

If it hadn't been Nate's round brown eyes that stared at her appealingly, then it had been those words that'd changed her mind. She was never one to make rash decisions, she knew that – but she also knew that if she didn't say something fast, she might never have another chance to make the choice again. After all, if she had turned Nate away and later realised it was the wrong decision, there would be very little she could do to get him back. And after everything, her childhood, her experiences, she couldn't exactly let him go off to something she knew far too well.

_...Ms Avery specifies _you_ to be his guardian..._

And another thing – this woman had actually picked her out. Admittedly, she was a manic depressive, which was later added to by an apparently undiagnosed case of prolonged post-natal depression, but the woman died thinking she knew who her son would be left with – she died believing her son would grow up with Sara – and she couldn't exactly throw that all away.

Sara sighs and gets up as the doorbell rings again. Warrick stands in the hall and offers her a smile.

"You look tired," she tells him, letting him in.

"Thanks," he returns with a grin. "Didn't exactly get much sleep last night."

"I'm sorry," she says with sincerity. Warrick shrugs his shoulders.

"No problem – where is the little guy?" he asks, looking around.

"Social workers are bringing him round later with the papers. They needed to make records of him, do background checks on me – you know," she answers vaguely, suppressing a yawn. "Did you manage to pick up the stuff?"

Warrick holds up a grocery bag triumphantly and sets it on the table. "Formula, diapers and a whole bunch of things to baby-proof the apartment with." He picked them out of the bag as he said them and placed them on the table. She laughs slightly.

"Very efficient, Mr Brown," she grins and reaches for her purse. "Now how much do I owe you?"

"Huh?" he looks at her for a moment. "You don't owe me anything – it was nothing, really. Don't forget, you're a single parent now." He adds the last part with a smirk. She rolls her eyes, debating between hugging him and punching him. Instead of either, she suddenly grabs his hand.

"Look – I want to show you something," she leads him excitedly into the newly-converted nursery. He gives a low whistle in the decorated room as she beams.

"Nice work, Sar – you did this all today?" he gazes around the room. "I didn't even know you had another room."

"No, well, it's really too small," she mentions pensively. "When Nate gets older, we'll probably have to move." Warrick looks around at her with a smile.

"So you think this could be a permanent thing?"

Sara shrugs and smiles optimistically. "I don't know – maybe."

"Hmm – Nate Sidle," he announces in his deepest voice, underlining the words as though they were written in the air. "Crime Scene Investigator."

Sara laughs again. Warrick revels in her laughter for a while, stunned for a moment when he catches a glimpse of the two of them in the window's reflection, hand-in-hand, and standing in a nursery together, until he's jolted back to earth by his beeping pager.

"Oh crap – my break's over." he mutters. "You coming in tomorrow night? I checked at reception and they say they run a day-care programme for the kids of the workers." She nods, following him to the front door.

"Thanks for doing all of this, Warrick," she murmurs in the doorway. "It's been a very strange twenty-four hours." He grins and shrugs.

"It's no problem, anything you need." Warrick assures her and heads off down the hall way, walking backwards and calling out: "Say hi to the little guy from me when he gets here!"

Sara just smiles as she watches him go.

- o -


	5. Pull Together

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**I was gonna hold out for more reviews but you've already given me tons and anyway, I'm far too happy dancing around to the legend that is James Brown to withhold chapters from you. Perhaps I'll be cruel and hold out on a chapter I actually like! Thank you for the epic amounts of reviews I got, it was really wonderful. Thanks to Megara1, Aleja21, icklebitodd (you know if you still aren't convinced, that's fine! Email me, if you like, and I'll try to win you over...), Ladybug07, katie, JennCorinthos, dawn2323 (that's a brilliant compliment – thank you so much!), cherishedcrush, Shelbers, Daisyangel, EmoCSIDork, MissyJane and Review1234. **

**I'll plug my Live Journal community for writers once again (write impulsive – with an underscore) because aboxforpandora joined up yesterday and that was fantastic. See my profile for more info if you love creative writing. Thanks again. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Five. Pull Together**

- o -

_"Advancement only comes with habitually doing more than you are asked."_

GARY RYAN BLAIR

- o -

It's Nick grinning face that greets her when she next opens the door. She's had Nate for five days now and has slowly slipped into the role without even realising it. Sure, she'd run into some issues along the way but nothing she couldn't handle – or rather, nothing she couldn't find in the hefty childcare book Grissom had given her. That thing had become her bible.

"Call for a handyman?" he asks with a smirk. She laughs; she'd asked at work the previous night if anyone would be able to come round and give her a hand baby-proofing the apartment. That was another thing that had changed about her, too – she wasn't afraid to ask for help anymore.

"Please don't tell me you wear that on a regular basis," Sara remarks, looking at his tool belt. He glances down at it.

"What's wrong with it?" he protests and she shakes her head. "You don't go for the Village People look?"

"Thanks for coming by; there's a whole load of stuff to fit." Sara lets him in and tips out the grocery bag of equipment Warrick brought round a couple of days ago.

"Wow – that _is_ a lot of stuff. He really needs all this?" Nick stares in wonderment. Sara shrugs her shoulders.

"I'm telling you, the kid's taken to crawling at lightening speed." She wanders over to the playpen in the corner where Nate lies on his back, intrigued by the colourful activity centre above his head and finding great delight in the various sounds it makes. She smiles at him. "Your Uncle Nicky and I have just got to sort out making this place safer for you, baby Nate. If you need anything, just give us a shout – okay?"

Nick chuckles to himself at Sara's conversation style and gets to work as Sara hands him a safety latch.

"So, hey – what do you think about the case?" Sara's voice sounds muffled to Nick who is lying on her kitchen floor with his head in a cupboard. She is wandering around the room putting plug socket covers into every nearby power point.

"I should've known – your shift finished about an hour ago and you're still thinking about work," he answers with a smirk and receives a poke in the stomach from a screwdriver. "It's a tough one."

"You think we'll get him before he strikes again?"

"Doubt it." Nick mutters. "It's cases like these that are just so wrong. It makes you feel sick – there's no real connections, no evidence – all we're doing is hanging around waiting for the guy to kill someone else and hope he slips up."

"Case getting to you?" she asks. Nick sighs, his head still in the cupboard. He had to admit, everytime he saw the young women with their staring dead eyes, for just a second, they always had the face of one of his sisters.

"Sort of. You know, I'm surprised you're so cool about it," he tells her with frankness. She shrugs her shoulders again.

"Me too – but I guess I'm just...happy." she offers him a smile as he pulls his head out of the cupboard and looks at her.

"You look happy." he comments, sounding almost surprised.

"Tired as hell, though," she adds with a grin just as there's another knock at the door. This time it's Catherine who stands in the hall, surrounded by various boxes and equipment.

"You won't believe the amount of stuff I found in my garage. High-chair, baby carrier, car-seat – you name it, I got it," she reels off the list with attitude. Sara laughs.

"Thanks, Catherine – you are officially the best," she says, allowing the woman into the apartment.

"What about me?" Nick complains from the floor much to Catherine's amusement.

"Oh you too, Nicky," she assures him, giving Catherine a hand lugging in one of the boxes from the hall. Nick exchanges glances with Catherine.

"Well someone's in a very good mood," Catherine comments, looking to Sara whose face is plastered with a beam.

Sara opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by two beeping pagers.

"Ow, crap." Nick curses, banging his head on the cupboard door as he reaches for his pager.

"Me and you both, Nicky," Sara chirps, holding up her own pager. "I'll just grab Nate and we can go." Catherine waves her hand dismissively.

"Forget it, kids – both of you go, I'll watch Nate." Catherine offers. Sara smiles, it's how it's been lately – everyone pitching in to give Sara a hand in looking after Nate.

"Thanks, Cath." Sara calls, briefly kissing the baby boy on the forehead before she and Nick dash out of the door.

"No problem," comes Catherine's reply and standing in the quiet apartment, she picks up a screwdriver and looks contemplatively at the bag of safety equipment. "Well if Uncle Nicky can handle it..."

-

Grissom, Nick and Sara survey the woman sprawled, stripped, in her own doorway. The carefully-wiped surfaces around the body, the escalated number of punches to the face, the single deep slice to the throat; the three of them look at each other.

"I'd estimate the time of death to be about four to five hours ago," Dave Phillips tells them, taking the liver temperature. He glances at his watch. "So at about –"

"Two am." Nick supplies, not even needing to check. Grissom nods to him and Sara who step into the apartment and begin a futile search for prints or fibres.

"Try to get what you can," Grissom instructs them. "I'm going to see if any of the people in the building have got anymore information on this."

"This brings the count up to three now," Nick mutters, photographing the scene before the coroner takes the body of Susanna Jacques, 29, away. "How long is this gonna go on for?"

Sara doesn't reply, intently dusting the tiled hall floor out in front of the door.

"It just isn't right..." Nick goes on.

"Nicky – "

"I know none of the cases we work on are ever right but serial killers are just messed up..."

"Nick! Shut up and bring that camera over here," Sara orders, not taking her eyes off the floor. "I've got a partial hand-print here." Nick rushes over and peers at it closely.

"Too big to be the vic's palms," he observes excitedly, clicking away. She twirls the finger-printing brush deftly between her fingers and smirks at her co-worker.

"See? We're getting somewhere," she chirps. "Lighten up, Nicky." He laughs.

"I never thought it'd be you saying that to me, Sar." he replies. "It must be bad."

Sara rolls her eyes and gives him a shove.

- o -


	6. Rockabye

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**I'm so glad that's over and done with (Chapters 3-5). This is the chapter I was waiting for and I hope it very much does not disappoint. This is where things start to really kick off and I hope, I really hope, this will be what hooks you, if anything at all. **

**And here is another plea for people who enjoy creative writing to join the Live Journal Community, write impulsive (with an underscore between the words). More details in profile.**

**Enough about that though, thanks to those who offered more wonderful reviews for the very slow and very dull Chapter Five. That's to icklebitodd (you really will get to read it, I promise – all in good time!), Ladybug07, Veronica10 (Ouch, you sound like you know about it all too well. I'll stick in some projectile vomiting especially for you, V10), Megara1, katie, Review1234 (where is your epic email!), cherishedcrush, MissyJane and JennCorinthos. I won't delay anymore. More feedback would be fantastic. Thank you all very much. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Six. Rockabye**

- o -

_"Somewhere we know that without silence, words lose their meaning, _

_That without listening, speaking no longer heals,_

_That without distance, closeness cannot cure"_

HENRI NOUWEN

- o -

Both Sara and Nick look up from their own paperwork automatically when the computer bleeps its modest announcement that it'd found a match to the partial palm print. Within the second they are standing in front of it, eagerly looking to see who their first lead on the triple homicide could be.

"Carson Emery," Nick reads. "Convicted of a DUI back in '94."

Sara taps at the screen with a finger. "Last known address is in the same building as Susanna Jacques." Nick nods at her.

"Let's go then," he gets to his feet as Sara's watch beeps.

"Shift's over," she comments. "Get Greg or Cath or Warrick – not me."

"Hey!" Nick protests. "What, so you don't pull overtime anymore? The lab's gonna fall apart! You mean I actually have to stay and fill the others in?" Sara grins.

"No, I don't do overtime anymore, Nicky." she smirked. "I've got a baby waiting for me at home – what've you got?"

"A beer?" he offers lamely. Sara laughs.

"Nice try." Sara is already half-way out the door. "See you tomorrow!"

Nick shakes his head, grumbling slightly as Sara heads down the hall.

-

"So I hear you pulled a print from a third scene," Warrick calls to Sara's retreating back in the parking lot as he jumps out of his car, his shift was only just starting. Sara turns at the sound of his voice and smiles.

"Yep – we just got a hit on AFIS," she answers. "Nick'll fill you in – I'm off."

"Wait – wait!" he takes her hand. "You might want this..." He opens his car door to show Nate strapped into his baby seat in the passenger seat. "I hoped I'd catch you before you left – Cath had to head home and change before her shift. She and I finished up baby-proofing your apartment." Sara looks at him in disbelief.

"Wow – thank you," she hugs him and lifts Nate out of the seat. "I mean it – thank you."

Warrick shrugs shyly. "It's no problem." Pausing, he catches a glimpse of themselves in the tinted Tahoe windows: himself holding open the car door, his hand unconsciously moving to her back as Sara lifts little baby Nate out.

"Come round when you finish your shift," she proposes suddenly. "I'll make you dinner or breakfast or whatever."

"I might finish at some ungodly hour," he warns her. "I don't want to wake you up."

"Huh – I'll probably be up anyway thanks to Nate," she says with a laugh, smiling fondly at the sleepy baby. Warrick grins.

"Okay, we'll see."

-

Carson Emery looks from Catherine to Brass. Each one wears a cynical expression and Carson rolls his eyes.

"This is crazy. You don't believe me, do you?" he asks. "I'm not kidding; I stopped outside her door at about 12.30 last night to tie my shoe before I went in to work. Are you phoning my boss? He'll tell you; I was in there by quarter to 1 and didn't get out until 9am this morning."

Nick, out in the hall, hangs up his cell phone and goes back into the interrogation room.

"His story checks out," he says with a shrug.

"Thank you!" Carson replies with exasperated sarcasm. "Can I go now?"

"Did you see anything on your way out?" Catherine presses. "Anyone going into the building?"

Carson squints at the wall opposite, thinking. "Yeah...yeah I did," he remembers slowly. "Yeah someone in the building ordered a pizza I think – there was a pizza boy bringing in a delivery – I passed him on the stairs..."

"Pizza delivery, huh?" Nick raises his eyebrows at Catherine and, on leaving, mutters out of the corner of his mouth, "I told you it was pizza."

-

Catherine and Warrick step out of her Denali into the bustling street. It's well into a typical Las Vegas Friday night and they wade their way through crowds of people moving across the sidewalk to reach the pizza place they'd been directed at.

"An order to 3014 East Sahara Blvd?" the manager flips through an order book, running his finger down the list of names and orders. "Yeah, here we go: placed at 12:20 last night. Delivery boy was Lyle Woodstock."

"Is Lyle working tonight?" Warrick asks, leaning over the counter.

The manager shakes his head. "No, he's off tonight. Back on Monday."

"Well can we get a home address for Lyle?" Catherine furthers.

"Sure." He pulls out another book and scans it quickly before scribbling down an address onto a piece of paper. "There."

He hands it to Catherine with a smile. She nods a thanks and the pair of them head back to the car. At least they had some kind of lead.

-

At quarter to two in the morning, Nate Avery's crying rips through the apartment and blasts out of the baby monitor now dominating Sara's nightstand. With a groan, Sara rolls out of bed for the second time that night and stumbles to his room.

"What's wrong now, baby Nate?" she murmurs, picking him out of the crib. "Or do you just enjoy dragging me out of bed?" Nate goes on wailing, not amused.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Sara rocks him gently. "It's not funny, I know. You hungry, baby Nate?" She wanders out to the kitchen as he cries over her shoulder.

-

Catherine folds the slip of paper up and puts it in her pocket.

"We probably won't be able to get onto this until tomorrow morning," she says, unbuckling her seatbelt and turning to Warrick. "If you want to head home now and come in early tomorrow instead, that'd be alright. I'll write this up."

"You sure?" Warrick asks. "Don't you want to get home to Lindsey?"

"She's at a friend's 12th birthday sleepover for tonight," Catherine replies before adding with a wry smile: "I think it's better I stay at the lab anyway – if I'm at home I'll be too tempted to call her and see how she is. I'll only embarrass her – she'll never forgive me."

Warrick grins and gets out of the car. "Ah well, okay then. Goodnight Cath."

He sits a while in his own car as Catherine disappears into the lab and wonders if it's too early or late to take up Sara on her invitation.

-

Sara glances at the watch around her wrist sleepily and yawns as Nate does not ease off on the crying.

"I know, I know – it's okay, baby," she soothes and sticks a bottle of milk into the microwave. "It'll just be a second, Nate, I promise."

She leans against the kitchen worktop in her nightwear shorts and vest-top, gently bouncing him to try and calm him down as the microwave makes it slow, whirring progress. Nate just goes on crying as Sara yawns again and tries to stay awake. The microwave pings just as the doorbell goes. Sara sighs and rolls her eyes – as much as she'd love to see Warrick anytime of day, she doubts she's looking very presentable being so sleep-deprived.

"Shh...it's alright, Nate – here you go," she grabs the bottle from the microwave and offers it to the baby, hoping he'll quieten as she opens the door.

-

After a moment's debate, Warrick starts up his car and drives it out of the parking lot. She'd said it'd be alright for him to go round at any time but he can't help but worry she might think he was coming on too strong or something.

Wait. Too strong? He shakes his head. All she sees in him is a friend – just like Nick who fitted the baby-proofing stuff, like Greg who brought round a bunch of baby toys and clothes from various generous members of his family, like Catherine who rummaged through boxes to find Lindsey's old baby stuff, like Grissom who provided, as ever, a load of childcare-related reading material.

So what exactly was his problem? He was reading far too much into all of this. It was just the way they seemed together – it was like glimpsing a place in life he thought he might be happy to live forever in. But that was just him. Wasn't it?

-

"Sorry about all this," Sara begins, raising her voice over Nate's wailing.

It's then that she looks up and sees that it isn't Warrick in the hall.

It's then that she's knocked to the ground, clutching tightly onto Nate.

Sara doesn't even have time to yell out before a gloved hand covers her lips forcefully. She scrambles further into her apartment, managing to put Nate safely onto the couch before another strong gloved hand grabs her ankle and drags her back, kicking shut her front door.

It's then that, lying against the cold hard floor, she realises that Nate's actually stopped crying a while ago and is contentedly sucking on his bottle.

A shrill baby's cry still echoes in her ears until the man holding a blade to her throat calmly shuts off the recorder and turns to her with purpose.

- o -


	7. To Die For

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**How much do I love the quotation in this one? A lot, kids. Very much – but I love most of the quotations rooted up and put in the chapters so I won't alert you everytime. Thank you very much for the reviews, they were souper. Suspense is wonderful – I apologise to all those who don't share this feeling. But thank you for the many kind reviews, icklebitodd (always getting in there first with reviews!), Megara1, Ladybug07, katie, Review1234 (times two, heehee), WSShippeR, JennCorinthos (love how you sign off your reviews!), Daisyangel, MissyJane, Shelbers, Katiyana, sidle girl and cherishedcrush.**

**Reviews are wonderful; I love them greatly so keep em coming in! (please) And here we go plugging the Live Journal community again: write impulsive (with an underscore between the words). More info in my profile along with other such entertainments...For now, I will shut up (mercifully). Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Seven. To Die For**

- o -

_"Live life so completely that when death comes to you like a thief in the night, there will be nothing left for him to steal."_

ANON.

- o -

The fair-haired man smiles, firmly holding her head to the floor. Sara is very much awake now.

"Not a word, lady," he murmurs. "Not one word."

Her chest shudders with a dry sob as she realises. This is it. She's going to die.

Doc Robbins' words echo nastily through her head: _C.O.D. exsanguination...a smooth blade...cut through the...chords...trachea...oesophagus...slashing the left subclavial artery...anterior and exterior jugular veins. Exsanguination. Slashing. Internal lacerations. And quite a violent rape._

The man tears down her shorts. He points the tip of the kitchen knife – the one the team would be dying to get their hands on – at her neck. Dying? Ha! The irony.

"You," he orders her calmly, "will not move." And he begins to unbuckle his belt.

Oh god, Sara thinks. Oh god, oh god. She stares desperately at the ceiling, trying to imagine this isn't happening. She imagines Warrick finishing his shift and coming round to see if she sticks to her promise of making him some dinner or breakfast. She tries to imagine the pair of them at the table, on the bar stools, in the kitchen. Warrick leans against the counter with his arms folded, waiting for that meal she promised him. A smirk plays on his lips and his bright green eyes seem to dance teasingly as he exaggerates a sigh, acting the part of an exasperated restaurant customer. They smile and they chat; everything is happy and everything is beautiful.

But, bit by bit, different images force themselves into her fantasy. Warrick running up the stairs to see her. Maybe he's smartened himself up a little. Maybe he holds a bottle of wine in his hand. But he stops by her open front door. And the bottle smashes on the floor when he sees her. Sara: sprawled on the floor, blood spilling from the single wound to her neck and pooling around her stripped and beaten body.

Where are you? Where are you, Warrick Brown?

She squeezes her eyes tightly shut but can't stop the tears leaking out of the corners as she feels her attacker start to rape her. _Quite a violent rape_. She laughs bitterly to herself. What a throwaway comment. None of them knew what it was like when they mentioned it flippantly. Now she does. And it isn't just the pain, it is the sheer humiliation and knowing that afterwards, after this, that'll be it. She's going to die.

And then a thought hits her. Well if she's going to die, she won't die for nothing. This is her case, it's their case, and whoever runs it, whoever processes her apartment and her body once he's through with her, won't get nothing out of it. She tenses her jaw. If she's going to die anyway, a little bit of pain before it happens will be nothing if she can stop the guy from doing it again.

Sara struggles to free her arm from where he's pinning it down with a hand and she blindly takes a swipe at his face, hoping to perhaps scratch his skin and get some epithelials under her nails. Her hand just brushes the side of his head. She'd cut her nails short to stop herself from accidentally hurting Nate when bathing him and she gets nothing but a heavy punch to her own face.

"I don't think you heard me," the man growls into her ear. "You will not move."

He presses the blade harder against the skin of her throat and slides it slightly. Sara gasps as she feels a sharp sting on her neck. He's cut her, not deep yet, but he's cut her throat already; a thin slice, drawing blood, just to remind her of what's coming. This is it then, she gives in, and lets her arms fall uselessly to her sides. She's not going to be helping the case and she's going to die.

Sara turns her head to the side with eyes tightly shut, trying in vain to imagine herself anywhere else but here. With a rush of pain when the man forces himself deeper into her, she unwillingly opens her eyes. Her gaze falls on Nate. He gurgles questioningly on the sofa and looks at her with his round brown eyes. It almost brings a smile to her face. Nate whines. He wants to know when she'll stop doing whatever is keeping her so occupied right now and when she'll pick up him and hold him again and rock him back to sleep.

It occurs to her then – who will look after Nate if she dies here? More importantly, what will this guy do to Nate once he's finished with her? Nate is her responsibility. She loves him. She can't die. She cannot die and leave baby Nate behind. Where will he go? Shipped off into the foster care system again? She can't let him live like that. Even if the guy slits her throat, what's she going to do? Just lie there and wait to bleed out? She can't die now. She pictures Nate's first words, first steps, first day of kindergarten. She's going to be there for them and, what's more, she's going to survive and ID this guy.

Forcing back every instinct in her that makes her want to close her eyes and pretend none of this is happening, she makes herself look straight at her attacker in the face. For a while, he doesn't seem to realise she's watching him. She swallows in her dry mouth, feeling her throat press closer against the cold metal of the blade as she does so.

The man stops briefly. He sees her watching him with a curious serenity, as though she doesn't mind what he's doing, as though she forgives him. He freezes.

Sara holds her breath. Is he going to do it now? Her heart thunders behind fragile ribs and neat adrenaline, like ice on fire, pulses fiercely through her, slipping down through thin-walled blood vessels.

Does he know she's trying to memorise his face?

Oh god.

Oh god. Is he going to end it now?

Something indistinct flashes across her attacker's blue-grey eyes. A kind of pain, a kind of humanity. He withdraws with a strangled cry, grabs the recorder, opens the front door and runs, runs away.

Sara lies for a moment on the floor of her living room. What's just happened? Has he gone? She gets shakily to her feet and shuts the door before removing and carefully bagging her clothes for the evidence. Then she changes, numbly and, picking Nate up into her arms, she sits on the edge of the sofa, shaking. Nate settles contentedly into her arms and falls asleep, a comforting weight of warmth in her shivering arms. She stares straight ahead of her, wondering if and then why she's still alive, and only then does she, with sleeping baby Nate in her arms, break down and cry.

-

Warrick reaches into his pocket for his house keys when his cell phone begins to ring.

"Brown."

A smile spreads across his face upon hearing her voice come down the line.

"Warrick? Aren't you coming over?" she asks him tentatively.

"I thought maybe you'd still be asleep and I didn't want to wake you," he replies. He notices how distant and meek she sounds. Something is up. "Why?"

"Nate was crying when the doorbell rang..." she says in a voice almost too quiet to hear. "I thought it would be you and it wasn't..."

The words chill Warrick right to the core as he sprints back to his car. "Oh Jesus. Sara, oh God, no."

- o -


	8. Trace

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Instead of plugging my Live Journal Community for writers (writeunderscoreimpulsive) today, I'm gonna apologise if the last chapter upset anybody. That isn't a sarcastic comment, by the way, friends. In no way is it bitter; I am genuinely sorry of the whole concept of rape, and of it being written quite as darkly and grittily as it was done, distressed any readers as the thought never crossed my mind. To me, the warning of "language and violence" encompassed "rape" also without giving away the storyline but I understand there may be different standards for different readers and, for that, I apologise. And hey, look, I did manage a sneaky community-plugging there...**

**Thank you, reviewers, all the same. Wonderful stuff. Thanks to Aleja21, icklebitodd (no, you were beaten to it! I am gravely disappointed...), sidle girl, Kelly, Ladybug07, Joyce3, red lighting, JennCorinthos, WSShippeR, cherishedcrush, Shelbers, MissyJane, Review1234 and Katiyana. Some really great reviews in that bunch of many, many, many so thanks again. Feedback is brilliant. (So are quotations...) Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Eight. Trace**

- o -**  
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_"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."_

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.

- o -

Warrick is running up the stairs to see her. He stops in front of her front door and knocks lightly. Sara starts suddenly at the sound and hesitates on the other side of the door.

"Warrick?" she calls uncertainly without opening the door.

"It's me, Sara – are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asks desperately. The door swings open.

"Don't touch anything," she tells him distractedly. It doesn't matter anyway; he's only looking at her. When he sees her standing in her living room, still with Nate nestled in her arms, looking very small and very pale, he wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly.

"Oh Christ, Sara." he whispers. "I called Brass and the team – they're on their way over. Are you hurt?"

"Don't touch anything. He might have left some trace..." she repeats distantly. He holds her out at arms length and looks at her numb, vacant face. Then he notices the thin line of blood on her neck.

"Oh Jesus – is that deep?" he reaches up a hand to run a finger across the cut on her neck but she grabs his wrist before he touches it.

"Don't touch _anything_, Warrick." she asserts. He looks at her, surprised at the ferocity of her tone. "Please, Warrick. It's evidence."

Her eyes are clouded, as though she's far off somewhere else. He drops his hand to his side; if this is how she wants to deal with it, as though it were just another case, then that is how they'll take it.

"My kit's in the car," he states. "You stay here – look after Nate, and I'll go get it. We can start processing the scene."

Sara looks at him and smiles gratefully; glad he's doing his best to make this easier on her. She nods as he disappears back down the hall and stands watching that space in the doorway until he comes back.

"I've bagged the clothes from the attack," she informs him curtly. Her clothes. He baulks slightly, still unable to separate himself from the whole incident. Warrick kneels on the floor, busying himself with his kit.

"I'll put Nate to bed," she continues, tenderly stroking Nate's soft hair. "You take the hall and front door – I'll do the living room."

It was just like any other scene, just like any other case but, as she passes the living room mirror, she notices her tear-streaked face, the swollen side of her cheek from the punch and the slit of red across her white skin.

-

Brass sits forwards in the chair in her living room. The rest of the team have finished processing every inch of the scene – there's nothing in it but they hardly care. Sara sits on the couch, facing Brass. She looks peaked and clutches tightly onto the edge of the sofa as though she were about to fall off. Around the room stand her colleagues, silent and unsure of what to do.

Greg chews nervously on his lower lip, holding onto his kit and standing very still. Nick rubs the back of his neck and observes the pale Sara with pained sympathy. Catherine flits between looking at her and looking at the wall, not knowing what to do or say – she can't even begin to imagine how traumatised the poor girl must feel. She eventually settles on staring at Gil who stands by her side and watches Sara closely with fatherly concern. Warrick gazes out of Sara's balcony window, guilt-stricken and tormented.

Jim Brass breaks the silence with a cough and flips open his notebook.

"So Sara – do you think you can describe your attacker?" he begins gently. Sara shakes herself and nods decisively.

"He was a white guy...blond hair and..." her voice trails off, frustrated at the blip in her memory though she'd tried so hard to remember. "Dammit, Jim. I tried...I really did..."

"That's fine, Sara. It's fine. How about you just tell me what happened?" Brass moves quickly on. Sara swallows down the lump in her throat – frustration, terror and tiredness mounting – and nods again.

"Well, I was up at about quarter to two. Nate woke me up," she smiles slightly at the memory but only Nick and Brass return the smile supportively. Everyone else remains frozen as she goes on. "He was crying a lot and I haven't really slept much lately; I guess I couldn't tell the difference between him crying and the recording outside...the doorbell rang and... and I opened the door..."

Warrick's back flinches again and Sara pauses. Despite everything, she struggles to remember and the snatches of memory taunt her with choosing to recall only the most horrific parts, the chilling fear and his voice rumbling in her ear. She grips her seat tighter still and tenses her jaw. Catherine, who'd looked back at her briefly, looks away again, unable to watch for long. Even Brass is finding it hard and, watching Sara relive everything all over again, he touches her hand softly.

"Sara...you don't have to do this right now," he murmurs. "We can come back to you in the morning – in a few days."

"No," she cuts him off firmly. "For anyone else, you'd need action to be taken right away. If you can be professional, Brass, so can I."

Brass nods at her resilience and allows her to go on.

"I thought it would be Warrick – I invited him over to say thanks for helping out," she continues, looking at his back. Warrick turns slightly, sees her looking at him, eager to get him to be okay with it but his eyes travel down to the stripe of blood across her neck and he stares back out of the window. Rejected, Sara switches her gaze to Catherine. "Thanks for finishing up the baby-proofing, by the way, Cath. And you too, Nicky." Catherine and Nick force smiles onto their faces all the time wondering how she can take this so calmly.

Sara looks at the floor for a moment before carrying on with the events.

"Anyway – it wasn't Warrick." she says with a half-laugh. "The guy came in and knocked me to the floor. I put Nate onto the sofa and then he held the knife to my throat. He told me not to move, not to say anything. And then he pinned me down and..."

She pauses, finding her mouth suddenly dry. None of them want to hear what comes next, though they already know, but it has to be said.

"And then he raped me." Sara concludes, staring hard at her clenched hands. The flinch shudders through the room and all the people in it but herself. Greg hangs his head, shoulders slumped. Grissom's face tightens and he, too, looks away. Catherine impulsively grabs his arm without even knowing it and Brass stares intently at his notebook, writing down her words with more forceful deliberation than is necessary.

"He used a condom," she adds brightly. "But maybe if it split we might be able to get some DNA. Maybe one of you could take me to the hospital...to see if he left any trace..."

Her voice dies out again as she looks imploringly around the room for someone to give her a ride to Desert Palms. Nobody can even look at her and it makes her feel suddenly very alone.

"Please?"

Nick averts his eyes when her gaze falls on him; his face is contorted painfully and everyone is a mess of guilt, sympathy, concern and anger.

"I'll take you," Catherine speaks up finally, surprising herself to hear her voice come out so fiercely. She tries again, more lightly: "I'll take you – come on, sweetie."

Sara smiles thankfully at her.

"Are we done here, Brass?" she asks the man. Brass looks up finally, with oddly bright eyes and nods wordlessly. Sara smiles at him, too and gets unsteadily to her feet.

"Come on, Sara." Catherine holds out a hand to the shaken woman and guides her out of the door, grabbing Sara's jacket off the hook by the door and putting it around her.

"Someone will have to watch Nate tonight," Sara says as she leaves. Catherine nods.

"It's okay, we've got it covered. You don't need to worry about anything." she assures her and shoots a pointed glance back at the men in the room before disappearing with Sara down the corridor.

Nick sighs finally, sinking his head into his hands, echoing what everyone else is feeling. Brass taps his pen against his notepad before decisively getting to his feet. As he leaves the room, he claps a hand onto Gil's shoulder and jolts the man back out of a daze. Gil looks up and takes in Brass' grim smile, returning it with his own. Greg drops the kit bag to the floor and looks for reassurance from any of the other faces in the room. Everyone is rooted in their own personal hell and Warrick, leaning his forehead against the cold glass of the window, blinks back furious tears.

- o -


	9. Escapism

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Wonderful reviews yet again, all twelve of them (I can't believe I'm actually into double figures per chapter. How epic is that?). So I'm very much thanking Megara1 (no problem at all; it wasn't your fault in the slightest), aleja21 (haha – bitter much?), Shelbers, icklebitodd, JennCorinthos (very high praise indeed, thank you so very much), sidle girl, Katiyana, MissyJane, nick55, WSShippeR, Review1234 (I already know! Argh! But that's all I know, I don't know who so nothing more...shh...) and cherishedcrush. And icklebitodd, I don't know why I picked "Nathaniel" – I think I just like that name. It's sort of beautiful and gentle.**

**This quotation pretty much sums up how I feel about writing. Well, this one and **_"Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go."_** from E. L. Doctrow. And on the topic of creative writing, check out my profile for details on write impulsive. Someone actually HAS put some marvellous writing up there now so I'm extra happy. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Nine. Escapism**

- o -

_"She realized...that if she sat down and wrote her stories, _

_She could escape the parts of life she didn't like, _

_Embroider the parts she did and thus control the life she had."_

DUDLEY CLENDINEN

- o -

Grissom claps his hands together in such a sudden, resolute action that makes Greg, Nick and Warrick jump.

"Back to work," he announces, shrugging off his emotional ties to the case and appealing to them to do the same.

"Someone has to look after Nate for tonight." Nick adds. "And I'm starting my shift in a couple of hours." He looks around the room at the others. Greg holds up his hands.

"No way, not me; you can talk to any of my family members with small kids," he shakes his head. "It's official – I can't be trusted not to drop young children. It's amazing some of my cousins don't have permanent brain damage."

Gil raises his eyebrows at Greg – yes, that sounds about right.

"Warrick," Grissom turns to him. "You just finished up a shift, right? Take the next one off – you're watching Nate."

Warrick stares blankly at his boss before shrugging his shoulders with a bleak expression. "Okay."

Grissom nods and heads out of the room with Greg following behind. Warrick sinks heavily down onto Sara's couch and barely notices when Nick sits beside him, looking curiously at him.

"What's going on, man?" he asks softly.

"What d'ya mean 'what's going on'? You heard what's going on. Sara was attacked." he deadpanned. Nick shakes his head.

"No but it's not just that, is it? I mean, it's really crap – we're lucky she's alive – but you've taken it really badly." Nick observes. Warrick turns to him, about to protest but he notices Nick's knowing expression and sighs, burying his head in his hands.

"It's really stupid, y'know. I just..." he searches for the right words. "I don't know how it happened. Sometimes when I'm over here giving her a hand with Nate, I'll suddenly catch a glimpse of ourselves and what we're doing. And it just looks right, you know? It feels right. I don't know what's going on with this but I'm...I'm crazy about her. And I should've been here. I should've been here."

He looks back at Nick helplessly. Nick puts a hand on his shoulder as he gets up to leave.

"I thought so," he says. "Don't blame yourself, 'Rick. It's wasted effort. Concentrate on catching the guy or on making this easier on Sara, okay? Don't beat yourself up over it."

Warrick smiles and nods. "You're right. Thanks, man."

-

The nurse smiles cheerily at Sara as she prepares a rape exam. Sara wonders how someone could look so perky at the end of a graveyard shift, she wonders how Nate's doing and she wonders how Catherine finds the time to straighten her hair every morning in between juggling single parenthood and a hectic job; she thinks about everything in an attempt to forget what's about to happen. It's for her job, she reminds herself. This cringe-worthy violation is for the greater good.

"I'll be on the other side of the curtain, Sar," Catherine murmurs as the nurse brings out several tools that look less than friendly and Sara nods at her, suddenly feeling scared when Catherine slips away unseen behind the other side of the curtain.

"You've got fairly prominent tearing, Ms Sidle – so I'm sorry if this is a little uncomfortable," the nurse warns her.

"That's okay," Sara answers uncertainly. "Be as thorough as you need to be." All the same, Sara shuts her eyes and grips the edges of the mattress, overwhelmed by the same feelings of pain and humiliation.

"Catherine?" she calls out nervously through gritted teeth. 'A little uncomfortable' doesn't quite cut it, she muses dryly.

"I'm right here," comes Catherine's from the other side of the blue hospital curtains. Sara inhales sharply. Christ, she thinks, we damn well better get some DNA out of this.

"Talk to me, will you?" she asks in a small voice.

Catherine nods slightly and turns to face the folds of blue curtain. "Sure. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's making endless hours of small talk." she launches brightly. "You know you're very lucky it wasn't Gil who brought you; he couldn't chat mindlessly to save his life. Probably end up quoting Shakespeare at you and making you answer philosophical questions; horrible stuff that messes with your head."

Sara laughs and chances opening her eyes to stare at the white ceiling above her. "Still better Shakespeare than...Greg."

Catherine grins at her resilience. "Oh yeah, I'd take intelligent conversation with Grissom over some of Greg's questions any day. Can you believe he actually once asked me which one of the team I would choose to see naked if I had to?"

Grimacing, Sara tries to separate herself and the conversation from the rest of her body and replies, "And who did you pick?"

"Ha! I didn't pick anyone, although I heard you got to see all in a de-con shower," Catherine smirks. "How did things look for Mr Sanders?"

"Better than I expected," Sara admits with a laugh. "Considering the water was very cold." She hears Catherine laugh and it makes her feel better.

The nurse by the foot of the bed gets up, packing away the rape kit and Sara props herself up on her elbows.

"Are you done?" she asks her hopefully. The nurse seals the used swabs in individual bags and hands them to Catherine on the other side of the curtain before turning back to the patient.

"Ms Sidle – the internal lacerations are quite deep. It's going to need suturing to prevent prolonged blood loss," the nurse tells her delicately.

"Are you kidding me?" Sara stares incredulously. As if this night wasn't bad enough..."Stitches?"

"It'll be under a local anaesthetic," the nurse adds, consolingly. "Soluble sutures. They won't need to be taken out."

"Jesus Christ." Sara mutters despite the nurse's brave attempts at comforting her. She leans her head back with a sigh and fixes her eyes firmly on the ceiling above her. "You still there, Cath?"

"I'm still here, Sara." Catherine answers.

Sara gasps and clenches her fists. "I hope..." she begins in a slightly shaky voice, trying to ignore the sharp sting of the local anaesthetic injection. "I hope we get somewhere with this."

"It's alright, Sar – you've done really well in helping this," Catherine comforts her. "Just try not to think about it." She pauses when she gets no reply and hears Sara swear quietly on the other side of the curtain.

"Want me to tell you about the time Lindsey accidentally locked Gil in our bathroom?" she offers brightly. "She was about six. He was stuck in there until I came home from work four hours later."

Sara laughs again but more bitterly this time. "Hell yeah."

Catherine puts on a grin and launches animatedly into the story but can't take her eyes off the blood-covered swabs in the bag hanging from her hands.

- o -


	10. Jigsaw Fit

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Chapter Ten and I've already hit the One Hundred Reviews mark! Ha ha – unbelievable. Thanks very much, all and especially Aleja21, icklebitodd (Nestle Crunch, hmm? Well y'know, Joyce3 offers muffins...), MissyJane, nick55, WSShippeR, Kelly, Shelbers, JennCorinthos (thanks again, I always aim to try and get a vividness across so that means a lot), Megara1, sidle girl, charmed1818, Review1234 (yes! Longest review! You win!), Nepeace, Joyce3 (no problem, you more than made up for it) and cherishedcrush.**

**And actually, I'd like to add (especially to cherishedcrush) that I LIVE IN LONDON! We haven't got Season Six yet and won't for a while! Unfortunately, I already heard that particular spoiler elsewhere by accident but I like staying spoiler-free so, though I am vastly jealous of your American CSI Advances, please keep me in the dark! On another note, since two whole people mentioned they'd like to hear the story of Gil getting locked in the bathroom, I think I might write that as a GCR sideline fic, just for you...**

**Plug: write underscore impulsive. The Live Journal community for creative writing. Now I'll be off, this chapter is of epic-length so prizes to whoever's still awake at the end. Try not to read too much into the medical technicalities. They are most probably wrong. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Ten. Jigsaw Fit**

- o -

"_A soul mate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. _

_When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our trust selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are;_

_We can be loved for who we are and not for who we're pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. _

_No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we're safe in our own paradise."_

RICHARD BACH

- o -

Warrick is jolted awake when he hits the floor. He winces after rolling off Sara's small couch and lies there for a while, wondering where he is. The whole terrible night comes back to him in the growing morning light. He's barely slept at all but finds he can't for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Despite all that Nick said, there's still that aching guilt eating away at his insides. He's almost thankful when he hears Nate beginning to whine over the baby monitor placed on Sara's desk and gets to his feet, telling himself firmly to stop being so damn self-pitying.

"Hey Nate," he greets the small baby in the crib. Nate looks at him for a while, recognising the face, but it isn't the one he'd hoped for and he resumes crying. Warrick grins and lifts him out of the basinet.

"Yeah, I know I'm not who you're looking for," Warrick tells him, sympathetically. "But she's a little busy right now so how about some breakfast, little guy?"

He carries Nate off into the kitchen and peers into the fridge. It's well stocked with bottles of formula and jars of baby food; Warrick doesn't even know where to begin.

"I'm in way over my head, little man." he mutters, taking out a selection of jars and putting a bottle of milk into the microwave. He sets the jars out in a row on the counter and holds Nate in front of them. "It's your breakfast; what do you want?"

The baby looks up at Warrick cluelessly before kicking over a jar with a small foot. Warrick picks up the jar and scans the label.

"Apple and blackberry?" he reads out loud. "Excellent choice, sir." And he puts Nate into his highchair ceremoniously, grabbing a spoon and a towel.

If he'd thought picking out the food was hard enough, getting Nate to actually eat it was a whole other business. Every time Warrick tries to catch the kid out by pretending to look away until he opens his mouth, Nate snaps his mouth shut again when the loaded spoon approaches.

"Come on, Nate," Warrick pleads. "I know you miss your Mommy but you're gonna have to give me a hand here. I promise, as soon as we're done here, I'll take you to see her. How's that?"

Nate surveys Warrick thoughtfully for a while, as though considering his preposition. Then he lets his mouth fall open and Warrick triumphantly puts the spoon of apple-blackberry mush between his toothless gums.

"That wasn't so bad now was it?" Warrick grins and, imitating him, Nate's face splits with his own happy beam, laughing.

-

Since Nate kept his side of the deal and, aside from slapping a spoonful of puréed food into Warrick's unsuspecting face, finished his breakfast without a fuss, he is now strapped carefully into his car seat, heading down the freeway to Desert Palms. Warrick flips on the radio and smiles at the baby.

"What kind of stuff do you listen to, little guy?" he offers up the choice of channels. Nate struggles in his car seat and begins to whinge as radio blasts out some metal. "No? I'm not a fan either."

Warrick presses the seek button again. Nate doesn't take to country much either and actually starts to cry at the techno crap that unexpectedly floods the car. On reaching a jazz station, however, Nate settles down and even starts to kick his feet to the beat, so much so that it makes Warrick laugh.

"Good taste, little man." Warrick tells him, stroking his head lightly. "You've got the rhythm in you."

Nate is still bouncing up and down in his seat when Warrick pulls the car into the hospital parking lot. He seems to have gotten used to this guy picking him up and talking to him now so Nate is uncomplaining when Warrick lifts him out of his car seat and carries him into the sterile building.

"Hi – can you tell me where Sara Sidle's room is please?" Warrick enquires politely at the front desk while Nate tugs inquisitively on his ear before moving on to yank his hair as Warrick heads down the various corridors.

Sara perches on the edge of her bed, already fully dressed and waiting to be discharged. Nate squeals delightedly upon seeing her and Sara looks up to see Warrick and Nate come through the door. Her face lights up with a grin.

"Hey!" she sits up and beams, reaching out her arms to take baby Nate from Warrick. "I hope you behaved for your Uncle Warrick last night, baby Nate." She smiles at Warrick who shrugs.

"Besides a face-full of baby food this morning, I think I got off easy," Warrick assures her, sitting beside her with one hand falling naturally onto her knee. "How are you doing?"

Sara rolls her eyes. "Can't wait to get out of here."

Right on cue, a doctor comes in holding her chart and smiling.

"You'll have to come back here for a check-up in a couple of weeks, Ms Sidle," he tells her, handing her a prescription bag with a bottle of pain meds. "But otherwise, you can go home now." The doctor heads out the door and adds before leaving, "Be careful on the sutures."

Warrick turns to her. "Sutures? For your neck? But it wasn't deep." he frowns, concerned. Sara looks at him awkwardly and arches her eyebrows as if to say, _what do you think?_

His face changes. "Oh God, that's horrible."

Sara smiles wryly at his reaction and nods. "Oh well."

"I'll get you a wheelchair or something..." Warrick says, getting up. Sara grabs his hand.

"No you won't," she tells him sternly. "Don't be stupid; I'll be alright. Just get me out of here, Warrick."

He looks at her and then relents, getting her to her feet and putting an arm around her.

"Okay. Sorry," he murmurs, supporting her out.

As they're leaving, Sara notices themselves in the sliding glass doors at the hospital entrance. She sees a woman cradling a small baby in her arms, leaving with a guy who has his arm protectively around her and wears an expression of deep concern. For a moment, she's shocked by the realisation that it's herself and then she wonders why it surprises her so much. It looks right, somehow.

-

Her slow progress from Warrick's parked Tahoe up the entrance of her building is infuriatingly enough; Sara stops at foot of the stairs and looks all the way up with a sigh. She turns to Warrick who's taken Nate out of her arms and clenches her teeth in frustration and embarrassment. Apparently, the humiliation doesn't end at the rape itself.

"I didn't count on this when I bought a fifth-floor apartment," she mutters sardonically. Warrick considers her for a moment before handing her Nate.

"Here," he thrusts the baby into her arms. "I'll be really gentle, I promise." And he picks her up gingerly, one strong arm fitting easily under the crooks of her knees with the other holding her back.

"Warrick, I really don't need –" she begins, blushing slightly. He ignores her protests and carries her carefully up the stairs.

"If I hurt you at all, tell me and I'll put you down." He instructs her. "And I'll let you punch me or something."

She laughs, holding tightly onto Nate. "You're gonna regret saying that." she warns him. But he doesn't hurt her at all so she never gets the chance to make full use of his offer. He sets her down delicately outside her front door and takes Nate out of her arms as she roots in her purse for some keys.

Stepping inside her apartment, back again in the morning after, she freezes up momentarily.

_Not. One. Word._

Warrick, standing close to her, can see her breathing quicken and she hugs Nate closer to her protectively.

_I don't think you heard me..._

"Hey," he murmurs gently, touching her elbow lightly. "It's okay, Sara. It's alright." Sara tears her eyes away from that space on her floor and looks to Warrick instead. She nods, puts on a breathless smile and shakes herself out of it.

"Thanks so much, Warrick," she says. "For everything." Warrick shrugs his shoulders.

"It's no problem," he gestures to the door. "Do you want me to...?"

"What? Leave...? Only if you want to," she answers reluctant to let him go. She doesn't know what it is; maybe it was the eerily fitting image of themselves earlier, maybe it was the thought of spending the night alone back in her apartment after what had happened, but something in her wants him to hang around a little longer.

"No, not at all," he says hurriedly. "I thought that maybe if you wanted to rest..."

"If I'm gonna rest then someone needs to look after Nate, don't you think?" she raises an eyebrow. "Are you working today?"

Warrick shakes his head. "Grissom gave me tonight off to look after you." He pauses, expecting an outburst of how she doesn't need looking after, followed by an angry phone call to Grissom to make him pay for his patronisation. Instead Sara shrugs her shoulders and smiles with what was suspiciously like shyness.

"Well that settles it then," she says finally.

-

It's night and, back on the couch again, Warrick stares up at the ceiling and smiles to himself. Sara is knocked out in her bed after taking some of the prescribed Demerol. That's some pretty heavy stuff, he thinks. He had no idea she would be needing something that strong. He feels the stab of guilt in the pit of his stomach again and throws back the blanket when he hears Nate starting to cry.

The sound of baby Nate's wailing chills the half-asleep Sara for a moment, bringing back flashes of dark memory. Her heart-rate thunders furiously for a moment and, in between waking and sleeping, she sees herself open the front door onto...onto...

Sara sits up with a gasping breath and untwists the duvet from around her, pulling herself together firmly. She begins to roll groggily out of bed when she hears another voice on the two-way baby monitor in her room.

"Shh...it's okay, Nate." Warrick soothes quietly. "What's the problem, little guy?"

"...'Rick?" Sara's uncertain and tired voice comes quietly down baby monitor in Nate's room. Warrick pauses.

"Yeah it's me," he murmurs through the monitor. He'd hoped Nate's crying hadn't woken her. He should've switched off the monitor. "It's alright; I've got it covered. I know where you keep the diapers and how to work the microwave. It's sorted, don't worry about it. You should go back to sleep. Get some rest."

Sara smiles, face buried in a pillow, and sinks back into her bed. "Thanks 'Rick." she mumbles vaguely. "I love you."

Warrick freezes. "Huh?" Even Nate's gone quiet and Warrick tentatively creeps into her bedroom. "Sara?"

Sara's fast asleep; she doesn't even know what she said or whether or not she meant it. She's drugged up on Demerol and extremely sleep-deprived. Warrick hesitates in the door way.

"Sara?" he whispers again into the gloom, not wanting to let go of what he thought she said. Sara rolls over in her bed.

"Hi, I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab," she mutters, still asleep. "Do you have a minute?"

Warrick breathes a laugh and shuts the door.

"The girl even works in her sleep," he comments quietly to Nate who, having still not been changed, is not amused and peppers a few exasperated punches into Warrick's bicep to remind him that, love-struck or not, diapers don't change themselves.

- o -


	11. The Line Up

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Hurrah for reviews! Thanks plenty, all – especially to csilouise, icklebitodd (hmm, I'll take the chocolate but pass on the tea. Any black coffee going?), JennCorinthos, Shelbers, aleja21, Kelly, Joyce3, Megara1, Review1234 (the other one was longer :P), charmed1818, Mrs. Elektra Murdock, MissyJane and WSShippeR. They were very much appreciated as will any feedback for this chapter be.**

**To all you patient GCR shippers – the chapter after this will be stocked with GCR goodness and I'm planning on starting that Gil-gets-locked-in-the-bathroom fic, although that'll be a GC friendship as opposed to some serious lovin' – though it's what we all want at the end of the day, apparently. Plug my Live Journal community once more: plug. And now on with the show. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

**LAST MINUTE EDIT: (oh the things I do for you). A last minute thanks to cherishedcrush and don't be sorry – it's a totally fine mistake to make. I usually assume that people on here are American until otherwise proven and it's fine that you'd bring that up – it's a TERRIBLE W/S-RUINING STORYLINE! No worries, man – it's all cool.**

- o -**  
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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Eleven. The Line Up**

- o -**  
**

_"Curiosity will conquer fear even more than bravery will."_

JAMES STEPHENS

- o -

The noisy whirring of the coffee machine in the break room is joined by someone groaning in the corner of the room and Greg Sanders turns around to see Catherine glaring at him over the arm of the sofa. Greg smirks.

"Have you been here all day?" he asks. Catherine sits up and runs her fingers through her tangled hair.

"Since I started this morning," she replies. "I hung around at Desert Palms with Sara last night – didn't sleep much. I'm waiting on DNA from the swabs." The cheeky grin vanishes from Greg's face at the reminder of what'd happened to their colleague not even some twenty-four hours ago.

"How is she?" he looks concerned. Catherine gets up, thinking of taking some of that coffee.

"Imagine how you'd feel if you were her," she offers. "And then imagine pretending that you didn't feel all that. That's pretty much where she's at, I reckon."

Greg stares silently down into his coffee before drinking it. Then he looks up and voices the question that had plagued all of their minds in the past hours: "Why didn't he kill her?"

Catherine shrugs her shoulders and rubs her eyes. "I have no idea. She says she got a good look at him, too. Surely that's even more motive to make sure she won't speak." She trails off, realising how uncomfortable a conversation this is.

"We should count ourselves very lucky that he didn't." she adds as Mia sticks her head around the door.

"Finished up processing the swabs from...from the vic." Mia announces, catching herself before she brings up any names.

"And?" Catherine prompts.

Mia shakes her head. "Nothing. Just her DNA and condom lubricant."

Catherine sighs and reaches for the coffee pot. "Right. Thanks, Mia." Mia nods and leaves.

"So – what now?" Greg asks tentatively. Catherine glances at the clock. It's almost nine in the evening.

"Well, Warrick's bringing Sara in with him when he starts his shift tomorrow morning. She's going to try and give a more detailed description of the assailant but until then, I suggest we check up on our pizza boy." Catherine proposes. Greg nods.

"Okay. Except I think that Nick, Grissom and I should chase up the pizza kid and that you should go home and sleep," Greg tells her. Catherine arches an eyebrow over the rim of her coffee cup.

"You're sending me home, Sanders?" she folds her arms and looks amused. Greg draws himself up.

"Yes." he replies firmly and smiles. "There's nothing much to do right now, we're not taking any more major cases until we bury this one and you look in serious need of some sleep."

Catherine laughs at his nerve. "Huh – thanks." she grabs her coat and purse. "After a comment like that, you wonder why I'm actually doing what you say." Greg grins as Catherine heads out down the hall.

"'Night Cath!" he calls after her, raising his mug of coffee. She only shakes her head disbelievingly and keeps on walking.

-

At the sound of knuckles rapping on his front door, Lyle Woodstock gets up reluctantly and opens the door. Three uniformed men stand in the hall and they don't look happy.

"Can I help you?" Lyle offers uneasily.

"Lyle Woodstock?" Nick asks and shows him his badge. Grissom surveys the man – white guy, blond hair – he fitted Sara's sketchy description.

"That's me," Lyle replies.

"Where were you last night, Lyle?" Grissom narrows his eyes at the kid. Lyle looks confused.

"I was here. Sleeping, I guess." Lyle says slowly.

"Was there anyone with you who can confirm that?" Nick presses.

Lyle rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "I wish." Greg cranes his head around the man and looks into his apartment. It's extremely tidy and neat, every surface wiped clean and an old tape player stands in the corner.

"You're a very clean-living guy, aren't you, Lyle?" Greg comments. "Not many kids your age live this neatly."

Lyle raises his eyebrows at Greg. "Don't you?" he quips, beginning to get annoyed at the pointed comments coming out of this guy who looks even younger than him.

"Where were you on the night of the 19th of June, Lyle?" Grissom cuts in sharply as he sees Greg beginning to rise to the bait.

"Huh?"

"You know, the night you raped and killed Katie Taylor? Remember her?" Nick mutters sarcastically.

"What?" Lyle stares at the man in incredulity.

"Okay, right – let's make this easier for you," Grissom cuts Nick off, too. The case, now personal, was starting to wear down everybody. "You're coming with us."

"You're arresting me?" Lyle steps back. "No way – I didn't do anything."

Grissom sighs. "Well if you didn't do anything, you'll have no problem coming with us so you can be identified, will you?"

Lyle pales and Nick grabs him roughly, leading him back down to the police car waiting outside.

-

The following morning finds Warrick staring through the mirror, one clenched fist resting against the glass, at the sulky-looking blond man who slouches in his plastic chair.

"You think it's him?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the guy. Nick, standing beside him, shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't know but it's not like we have much else to go on," Nick mutters.

"He doesn't look like he'd be strong enough to escape with no scratches or anything after a fight with Sara," Warrick muses sceptically. Nick chuckles.

"Yeah – I hear ya. Oh well, he's gonna be put into a line up and we'll see if Sara picks him out or not," Nick says. Warrick turns.

"What?" he looks outraged. "So soon? Jesus, Nick – give her a break. It happened like, what – less than three days ago and now you're making her go through it all again?"

Nick holds up his hands. "Warrick, come on, man – if she doesn't feel up to it, we won't make her."

"Of course she's gonna say she feels up to it, Nick. But that doesn't mean she will be," Warrick objects exasperatedly. "Can't you give her a break?"

"'Rick," Nick speaks sharply. "This is serious stuff and the only thing we might be able to have against this guy is Sara's word. Grissom's not going to let this one go so just deal with it, okay?"

Warrick sighs and, glancing briefly back into the room, nods finally. "Okay." Nick claps a hand on his shoulder heavily and leaves the room in silence.

-

Grissom looks at Sara closely.

"You're sure?" he repeats for about the third time. Sara rolls her eyes.

"Yes." she assures him forcefully. He flips his notebook, containing all the details she'd given him on the assailant, closed. The guy was fairly average, consistent with Lyle's appearance – he didn't have any distinguishing features but Sara was positive she'd know him if she saw him.

"Because if this is too tough for you to do right away, we get it." he says cautiously.

"Jesus, Gil – I'm fine. I just want to get this case finished quickly, like everyone else." she tells him. "When will you be doing the line up?"

Grissom smiles; he knew Sara'd be this determined.

"Later in the day – you can stick around here or you can head home. I'll page you when we need you," he nods and gets up.

Sara smiles resolutely and sits back on the break room couch but, when Grissom leaves her alone in the empty room, she unclenches her fists and rubs them, shaking, across her face.

- o -


	12. Motor Oil

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Thank you, patient GCR shippers! Here is your GCR moment with another following in the next chapter. I'm working on the story of Gil getting trapped in the bathroom... And thank you to the reviewers of chapter eleven, who were Aleja21 (now THAT sounds good!), icklebitodd (Cheesecake and espresso – I think I love you. Nice insights at the beginning actually, very poetic.), katymoonbeam, Shelbers, Megara1, Review1234 (get my email?), cherishedcrush (no problem), MissyJane, charmed1818 and Joyce3 (consider it done!)**

**Many apologies to those holding out to see whether or not Lyle is The Guy – you'll soon find out, but not today. Cue the write underscore impulsive Live Journal Community Now I'm off to wash my hair and get some work done before I lose myself in over-amusement about Bear In The Big Blue House songs. What! They're GREAT SONGS! Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Twelve. Motor Oil**

- o -

_"It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them."_

AGATHA CHRISTIE

- o -

Catherine, bedraggled and oil-smeared from the garage, heads to the break room to wash up. She'd been handed another minor case just this morning, a routine 434. Within hours, they'd picked up an armed suspect and matched the bullets to the ones she'd just rooted out of the fuel tank of the target – a silver BMW. She was beginning to suspect that Grissom was trying to push the less high-profile cases onto her, slowly removing her from the serial rape and murder case.

"Hey Cath."

Catherine turns to see Sara lounging on the break room sofa, distractedly playing with Nate. Nate looks to Sara with a questioning gurgle and Sara grins.

"Yes – it's your Aunt Catherine, baby Nate. You remember her, right?" she says to the baby and points to Catherine. She smiles.

"Hey – what are you doing still here?" she asks. "You should get back and take it easy for a while."

Sara looks up momentarily. "No point in going back if I'm gonna get called back in for the line up." she comments vaguely.

Catherine does a double-take. "What?"

"The line up," Sara repeats. "You know...I gotta ID the guy." Catherine looks riled to say the least so she adds, "It's okay, Cath. Really, I'm okay."

Catherine only shakes her head and marches straight out of the break room without saying a word.

-

"What do you think you're doing, Gil?" she snaps immediately, storming into Grissom's office and slamming the door behind her. "I mean, not only are you trying to take me off the case – which I know you're doing, by the way, so don't try and deny it – but now you're making Sara go in and look her attacker in the eye before she's even recovered?"

Gil looks up, surprised at the sudden outburst. He gets up from his desk and moves to lean against the front of it as Catherine carries on ranting in the middle of his office. He doesn't even begin to protest because she carries on, gesturing wildly with hands still grubby from the garage and blazing eyes. Instead, he smiles at her, a gentle smile tinged with fondness and sadness at the same time.

"Gil, come on. You can't make her do this." Catherine persists, getting angry. "What do you think you're playing at? You can't make her do this; she's not ready for it yet."

Only Catherine could still manage to look beautiful, endearing and perfect in one of those blue FORENSICS jumpsuits. Catherine, in the oversized jumpsuit, motor oil smudged onto her nose and forehead, her blonde hair sneaking loose from the clip she'd hurriedly pinned it up with earlier in the break room. He'd watched her do it.

"Well, say something," she snaps at his silent, faintly amused face for, though she fumes these words, she leaves him no time to even open his mouth. "You _can't _make her do this. I know she seems up to it, but anyone can see she's putting on a front; it's just a brave face for the rest of the group. This would mess her up – I am _not_ going to let you do this to her."

"Catherine..." Gil begins, slowly and thoughtfully. She stops, expecting a continuation on the quarrel. Then he reaches up his thumb and carefully, deliberately, rubs the motor oil from the tip of her nose. "You've got some motor oil right there."

She responds with an infuriated sigh, stamping her foot on the floor. More strands of her blonde hair fall over her eyes and, in swiping it back angrily, she smears onto her face some more motor oil from her blackened fingertips.

"Gil..." she persists. "Quit fooling around."

He sighs finally, sensing that now is the time to be serious; he'd gotten through this difficult decision by trying to keep the morale just above bleak but it feels different now that he's having to face up to things, confronted by the one person he's never been able to keep anything from.

"We can't let this go just because it's Sara." he says firmly. "If any other witness said they felt up to identifying their attacker, we'd have already done it. We can't treat it differently because we're emotionally involved."

"But it _is _different, Gil, _because_ we're emotionally involved and _because_ it's Sara." Catherine countered exasperatedly. "If it were any other witness, they wouldn't claim they were ready when they weren't because they felt like they had to be strong for all of us and give us something to work with. They wouldn't pretend they could do this when they just can't. And if she's not going to make that decision, someone has to make it for her."

"Cath, ultimately, it's her decision." Gil tells her, taking hold of her by the shoulders. "Listen to me – listen to me: Sara won't take no for an answer. All we can do, all you can do, is support her in this. Supporting someone in a wrong decision can sometimes mean more than trying to force them into doing something they'll never do. Be there for her."

"But, Gil..." her fury has lost momentum. She hadn't been expecting Gil to be so...correct, not about this; it caught her off-guard. Instead she slumps her shoulders with a heavy sigh and looks at him, unsuccessfully suppressing a grim and anxious expression.

Without thinking, he puts his arms around her, drawing her into a hug, almost surprised to feel her slender body beneath that ridiculously outsized standard-issue jumpsuit and holds her for a while in the silence of his office. He can feel her unwillingly relax into his arms and they stand for a while, just like that.

"That's not fair," she mumbles in weak protest into his shoulder. "I was looking for a fight."

He grins and holds her out in front of him at arms length, considering her with warmth.

"You look like you've already been in one," he replies as she scowls at him. "Motor oil. Hold still." Catherine stands patiently, studying the look on his face as he is absorbed in the task of rubbing motor oil from her face.

"Ow."

"Sorry. Can you just move your head like...yeah. Wait a second. Sorry."

"That's okay."

"Hold still."

He murmured his last order only very quietly but she still heard him, with her head resting in one of his hands and tilted inches from his face.

Catherine is watching him watch her. Her eyes examine his as they squint at the offending oil on her forehead. She thinks she likes his face like this, scrutinises the stubble on his chin and surveys the hard line of his mouth, tensed in concentration. Though his eyes stay still and focused, hers dart across his face, inspecting every familiar detail with a curiously stronger tug of affection.

And then the next thing she knows, she's kissing him.

- o -


	13. Ring Any Bells?

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Before I say thank you, here's me saying sorry: "Sorry!" I didn't realise it'd been 11 days without an update (thanks to WSShippeR for the nudge) – needless to say I've been ridiculously busy doing nothing interesting. But I really was intending to update now before I go off to Spain for five days – I also wanted to beta Chapter Seven of a very wonderful joint WarrickSara fic I'm doing with Joyce3 and Megara1 (See, I'm still plugging away...) before I updated (which I didn't manage to do, but WILL do before I go, Megara!).**

**And yes, thank you very much for the lovely reviews I've been getting. That's to JennCorinthos, MissyJane, Ladybug07, Aleja21, icklebitodd (Oh very smooth. And I figure she'd just dress him like a normal cute kid. Think Baby GAP and dungarees – stylish...), WSShippeR (x2), Daisyangel (I'll take those cookies but leave the milk, thanks – I don't drink milk ever and am prepared to put up with osteoporosis.) Review1234, Joyce3 (perhaps not as long, but at 206 words, it ain't bad!), sidlegirl (Sorry – I did say there'd be GCR in bits. There'll be some in this chapter too.), cherished-crush and Katiyana. Wow – see this is what happens when I don't update for a while – the A/N grows... I don't even have space to plug my live journal community, write (underscore) impulsive... Oh wait... Ha! Sorry for the delay, kids. Here it is. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Thirteen. Ring Any Bells?**

- o -**  
**

_"In order to succeed, people need a sense of self-efficacy, struggle together with resilience to meet the inevitable obstacles and inequities of life."_

ALBERT BANDURA

- o -

Catherine pulls back after a moment and stares at her feet.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, not sounding sorry at all. At any rate, he'd kissed her back.

"That's okay," he shrugs and smiles. "It's a tough case and I know it's even harder now that Sara's involved, but we have to stay focused." He looks at her carefully. "When was the last time you slept?"

"A couple of hours ago; I'm fine, Gil." Catherine waves a hand dismissively.

"No, I mean really slept. Not just closed your eyes and pretended." he tells her with gentle sternness. Catherine smiles; she could never get anything past him.

"I can't even remember," she admits with a laugh. Gil nods.

"I thought so," he murmurs. "You need to wind down, Cath. And I know just the thing."

Catherine raises an eyebrow, enquiring. "Oh?"

Gil grins but says nothing as one of the cops knocks on the door and pokes his head around it.

"It's all ready, Mr. Grissom," he tells him, referring to the line up. Grissom nods a thanks and, offering a grim smile to Catherine, follows him out.

-

Sara can't even remember the last time she bit her nails but she's doing it again, sitting outside in the hall waiting for Grissom to let her into that dark, narrow room behind the mirror. Nate has been handed over to Warrick who watches Sara with apprehension, as he paces the polished floor.

"You don't need to do this right now, Sara," he murmurs to her once again. "We can call it off at any time. Don't do this before you're ready."

"'Rick...please." Sara protests quietly, glancing over at Catherine who'd been watching, equally dubious. "I'm fine."

"I can hope you are but that doesn't mean you have to be," he tells her. Sara blinks a couple of times.

"Three women are dead." she says flatly. "That count would be forever rising with the meticulousness of this particular guy. We've been looking for a break in the case for how long now, Warrick? How long as it been? And how many more dead?"

Warrick winces. It could've been her, he thinks achingly. And she's beautiful, she's beautiful – it hurts him to think of it. _It could've been you._

"I _am_ that break, Warrick." she asserts, not choking back that hint of desperation. "I am our break."

He nods, seeing her dark eyes burn with something more than anger, something more than passion. There's no talking her out of this one – Sara's mind is set and, though he can clearly see the healing scar of dull red across her pale, tensed neck shiver with every shaky breath she draws in, there's no talking her out of it.

"You ready?" Grissom asks quietly, opening the door. Sara gets up with tenacity and nods.

"Yep."

He smiles and hands her a small pad of paper with a pen. "You know the drill."

She takes them from him and, not looking back at Warrick or the other anxious faces of Catherine, Nick and Greg who gathered to see her in, marches confidently into the room.

At the sound of the disembodied voice that echoes eerily in the room through hidden speakers calling out his number, Lyle Woodstock, clutching his board, steps forwards. He stares blankly into the mirror behind which he knows someone is scrutinising his face and turns sideways on instruction.

Then he steps back and is left to wait.

-

When Sara emerges from the room just minutes later, she's ashen-faced and frowning.

"Lyle Woodstock?" Nick jumps to his feet as soon as she comes out. "Number 5, right? Lyle Woodstock."

Standing behind Sara, Grissom shakes his head slightly at Nick and Sara only holds up the pad of paper. It's still blank.

"None of them." she replies, finding her voice. "Our guy's still out there."

Catherine bites down on her tongue, resisting the temptation to ask her if she was sure. Of course she was sure; how could you forget something like that?

"Are you okay?" Greg asks gently as the rest of them sigh and disperse. He stands beside Warrick who's still holding Nate though he hasn't said a word. Sara nods a little uncertainly but puts on a smile which Greg returns before heading back to the lab.

"Come on; I'll drive you home," Warrick says eventually. Sara shakes her head and takes Nate out of his arms.

"It's okay, 'Rick. I'll make my own way back," she answers softly. Warrick opens his mouth to argue against her but she gives him such a soul-empty, hardened look that he knows she only wants to be alone. With a sigh, he relents and nods.

"Call me." he calls after her imploringly as she turns to go. He sees Nate beam at him from over her shoulder but Sara doesn't respond.

-

Catherine stands on the roof of the lab and looks out across Las Vegas at night. She looks at her watch. Her shift was over half an hour ago but she was called to the roof by Gil and he isn't even here. She crosses her arms and thinks to herself that, if he isn't here in ten minutes, she's going to go home and continue her pretence of sleep.

Almost as though he heard her thoughts, Gil stumbles up the stairs, through the door to the roof and drops an armful of blankets onto the roof. Catherine looks at them cynically.

"Is this worth the wait?" she ponders out loud. Grissom smiles but doesn't answer her.

"Gil?"

He turns to her and slides the backpack off his shoulders, sitting on the pile of blankets laid at the edge of the roof overlooking the colourful city at night.

"Come on," he pats the space next to him on the blankets and she, masking her intrigue with reluctance, takes a seat beside him. "Here." He hands her a thermos flask from the backpack and she takes it, looking at him in suspicion.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she presses. Gil grins and shrugs.

"Nothing much – you just need to relax a little, Cath," he tells her. "Learn to let go – you know."

Catherine shakes her head with a sigh and unscrews the lid of the thermos, peering warily inside.

"It's decaf," he adds with a smirk. She laughs slightly and takes a sip. Then Gil reaches into his bag and pulls out a hefty book and torch.

He clears his throat importantly, leaning against the low concrete wall surrounding the roof, and reads out the title: "Dreaming: An Introduction to the Science of Sleep by J. Allan Hobson."

Catherine laughs out loud but doesn't protest and instead leans with her back against his shoulder, sipping the warm decaf coffee.

"What is dreaming? What causes dreaming? Why are dreams so strange and why are they so hard to remember?" Grissom launches into the book, putting an arm around her. "Modern science has given us –"

"And this is just an introduction?" she mutters critically. "You really are gonna get me to sleep, aren't you?"

He only shushes her and laughs slightly as he goes on: "– has given us a new and increasingly clear and complete picture of how dreaming is created by the brain..."

Catherine smiles and rests her head in his lap, lying against the cushion of the blanket pile and staring up at his torch-lit face against the backdrop of vast, midnight sky. She lets the soft rumble of his voice soothe her into relaxation and, despite the fact that she'd be unwilling to admit that he really did know how to calm her down, she settles comfortably into the blankets, feeling the comforting weight of his arm across her chest.

She isn't surprised that he managed to do the impossible and relax her but she registers only now that he may just be the only person in the world who really understands her. It should've been a frightening thought – what if she lost him? – but it wasn't; it was a strange kind of solace that let her lie there, without reservation, unconsciously stroking his arm where it rested across her. Maybe a part of her just knows she won't lose him.

When Gil reaches page 34, however, the serenity of the situation is cut into sharply by someone throwing open the roof door. Catherine sits up hurriedly and Grissom turns his head to see who's burst in on them with such urgency, like a pair of adolescents caught with each other by a parent.

Warrick looks livid and, for a moment, cannot even speak.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands, irately. "Both of your pagers are turned off. I've been looking for you for over an hour; I don't even what to _know_ what you've been up to."

"Warrick – calm down, what's going on?" Grissom speaks rationally but Warrick refuses to be spoken rationally to.

"She's gone." he snaps, a passion of fury and concern. At once, Catherine and Grissom are on their feet. Warrick sways on the spot for a moment, finally hearing his own words and repeating them with solemn gravity. "Sara's gone."

- o -


	14. Wherever

**Disclaimer:**** They're not mine **

**Rating****: T or PG-13 for language and violence **

**Summary: ****It's ****2am****. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case **

**And wow – I get back from ** **Spain**** to find 16 reviews waiting for me. Eeeheehee. Thank you to JennCorinthos, icklebitodd (well they're wise words in themselves. And I didn't know that she had any siblings at all...), cherishedcrush (thank you! And I did!), Joyce3 (heh heh, I'm a plugging-pro. Keep looking out for Fluffy! That rabbit is my claim to Dutch fame! The V&D catalogue, kids!), Aleja21, charmed1818, Kelly, Cindy Ryan, topsy, Megara1, Review1234 (606 words...-jawdrop-), WSShippeR, sidle girl (you know, you and Greg were the only ones to ask that...), MissyJane, Stahchild (Ah, thanks! I hope to convert you to the righteous WS path...) and aboxforpandora. Y'all said so many nice things and I'd like to leave little brackety notes for everyone but the A/N would never end and that'd defeat the whole point of the story. **

**Plug for write underscore impulsive – the LiveJournal creative writing community. And on with the show. Oh and watch out for the -eek- swearing. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Fourteen. Wherever**

- o -

_"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image._

_Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them."_

THOMAS MERTON

- o -

Standing around the table, Warrick stares at the faces. Catherine, Gil, Greg, Nick and Ecklie all turned out to hear what's going on. It was simple, Warrick fumed, she'd gone.

"Well what do you mean 'gone'?" asks Gil. Warrick clenches his fist around his cell phone; the slowness of getting the message across was really starting to bug him.

"I mean she's not answering her phone and she's not at home – I checked," he snaps. Warrick remembers dashing up the stairs again after getting the answer machine five times on the way over. Her car wasn't in its space and, on opening her door with the spare key she'd lent him a while back, he found she'd packed up some of Nate's things, some of her own, and disappeared without so much as a note to say where she'd gone.

"And what about Nate?" Greg speaks up remembering with affection the smiling baby who liked to rip out little handfuls of his spiky hair. "Is Nate gone?"

"Yes – she's packed up some stuff, taken Nate and her car and gone." he looks around the room. They are frustratingly silent and still. "Well aren't you going to do something about it?"

"It was too much for her – the line up, revisiting memories." Catherine murmurs absently, biting on her lip. "It was too soon."

"Why aren't we looking for her?" Warrick demands angrily. "The attacker hasn't struck for a while and you want to know why?"

"We know why, Warrick," Grissom interrupts in warning tones but his attempt to diffuse the situation doesn't work.

"Yeah – because he should've killed Sara and he knows it. He knows we're looking for him," Warrick yells. "So he's lying low, right? But now he only has one target and that's Sara. He'll be wanting to finish what he started, won't he? Why the hell aren't we out there trying to find her?"

"'Rick, she could be anywhere," Nick says gently. "We can only wait for her to come back herself."

"Wait?" he repeats incredulously and incensed. "Wait? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Warrick." Gil interjects sharply. "Sara will be fine; she's perfectly capable of looking after herself."

"No she's not." he snaps. "She's had one helluva crap week and is doped up on Demerol – does that really sound like capable to you?"

"Demerol?" Ecklie leans forwards, interested. "That might have been what compromised the line up. She might not have been in the right frame of mind..."

"Damn straight she wasn't in the right frame of mind." Warrick spits bitterly.

"We can try it again when she's off it," Ecklie nods. "This whole disappearing thing may compromise all the evidence she's given us, too. If she's shown to be mentally unstable..."

"Shut up, Conrad," Catherine bites, hearing far too much glee in his voice for her liking. "This is no time for some third grade 'I told you so' taunt."

Ecklie holds up his hands. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"I can't believe you," Warrick shakes his head in disgust. "All of you. Is this all you care about? What the jury are going to think of her disappearance when it goes down on file?"

The uneasy silence that follows his question only fills him with more rage. He turns away.

"Well fine. Unlike the rest of you, I," he announces. "I actually care about her. And I'm going to find her."

"Wait – 'Rick." Nick tries a last attempt to talk some sense and reason into his friend but Warrick is already gone, storming down the corridors.

-

The drive out calms Warrick down after a while when he realises he doesn't even know where to begin. He sickens with the comprehension that Nick might've been right – maybe he should've just sat and waited. But he couldn't wait. He would drive himself crazy before she came back. There was no doubt about it, he wasn't going to hang around and watch the clock until she decided to return – if she did at all – but where could he start?

He is dazed and tired. He hasn't slept in a while and had been powering through on the sheer guilt and fury over what happened. It's slipping now; all he wants to do is to know that she's okay. Warrick wonders lamely if that's not too much to ask.

Traffic lights sigh from green to red as he approaches and he slows his car to a halt before the line that splits the tarmac. It is then that, gazing mindlessly through the windshield, he sees a familiar Tahoe being manoeuvred by suited valets outside a small Las Vegas hotel. As soon as the lights flip to green again, Warrick is pulling up outside the hotel and running inside to the reception desk.

"Can you please tell me which room Sara Sidle is staying in?" he asks the lady at the desk breathlessly. She looks at him, nods and searches through the computer.

"Sorry – no Sara Sidle." she tells him. Warrick glances outside; the valets are re-parking her car after moving it to let out another. It's her car alright, her plates.

He pauses. "Avery? Try Avery."

The lady turns back to the screen but comes up shaking her head. "Sorry sir..."

Warrick nods and turns to go. She obviously didn't want to be found. So what now? Back home to sit and panic? He stops and returns to the desk. One last guess – a stab in the dark.

"Sara Brown?" he suggests meekly. The receptionist barely suppresses a sigh and wonders how long this guy is going to stick around as she taps at keys with neat, polished nails. It bleeps an affirmative.

"Room 183, sir. First floor." she informs him with a smile. Warrick grins and dashes off to the stairs.

-

Something in her already knows who it's going to be before she opens the door (knows or hopes?) and Sara isn't surprised to see Warrick standing on the pristinely-vacuumed hotel carpet, one hand still raised about to knock for a second time.

"Well – you found me." she deadpans to him. Warrick shrugs and offers a weak smile that she doesn't return.

"Can't be too easy trying to hide from a bunch of Crime Scene Investigators," he replies. She moves away from the door, letting him in without actually saying it.

Sara perches on the end of her bed and watches Nate sleeping in his travel cot. "I wasn't hiding from you." she tells him after a long and quiet pause.

"Okay." Warrick chirps simply, not knowing what else to say when he tentatively joins her. "What are you doing here, Sar?"

Sara shrugs. "I figured that if the guy's still out there and knows we're looking for him, he might want to come back and finish up what he started." she answers dully. "No point in hanging around where he knows I live."

Warrick sinks his head in his hands. "We never thought of that. We could've put a uniform out by your building. Or two." The guilt takes another bite.

"It doesn't matter. I can take care of myself," she replies. "Remember?" Warrick nods. She's right. And Grissom was right, too. He winces, remembering how he completely blew up at everyone. What was wrong with him?

In the cot, Nate stirs and whimpers slightly. Sara leans forwards to rock him gently back to sleep but she moves too sharply and is unable to hide her flinch from Warrick who picks up on it instantly.

"You haven't taken your Demerol have you?" he asks immediately.

"No." Sara shakes her head. "I didn't want to be so knocked out that I wouldn't hear Nate if he started crying." Sara rolls her eyes. She could take care of herself; she just might need a little hand now and then, that's all.

"I'm taking you home." Warrick announces firmly. "I'll watch Nate or something – take the pain meds, Sara – you're in pain, that's what they're for."

"No – no," Sara looks more worried than stubborn this time as she grabs Warrick's arm. "No, 'Rick. I – I really don't feel like going home."

Warrick smiles warmly at her and pulls her standing. "I didn't mean your home."

Surprising both herself and Warrick, she gives in to him – letting him help her pack up and check out. Following his car back to his house, she doesn't know what it is about him but lately all he's had to do is just ask her to let him help her and she does. It had never been like that before – with anyone and certainly a few years back Warrick would've been the last person she'd willingly accept help from. Sara can't put her finger on it – there's just something...there's something about him. Something that made her give his surname at the hotel counter. Something that's making her follow him home tonight. Something that's actually making her _want_ to let him look after her.

- o -


	15. Now We're Getting Somewhere

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**I've been getting some really epic reviews lately, and not just from Review1234, which is an achievement in itself. So, thank you hugely to every one who reviewed: Review1234 (writer of great House fiction – Land Of Qualms), icklebitodd (yes, I know – I feel it's just all too easy to paint Ecklie in the extreme as The Bad Guy. I try to avoid it. Honest), JennCorinthos, Jenny70529 (well thanks very much for the review in the end!), charmed1818, Kelly, Joyce3 (HOW could they have thrown it out! And –cough- Better Memories? –cough-), Megara1, Aleja21, nick55, MissyJane, Daisyangel, kam and sidlegirl. Can't tell you guys how much it made me smile that so many of you reviewed by yelling at Sara that the reason why she's doing this is because SHE LOVES HIM! Ah, give the girl a break – she'll work it out. And I take it many of you liked her choosing his last name to check in with...**

**Write-underscore-Impulsive, the live journal community, has its first creative writing challenge up now if any of you are interested to check it out. Two people have already responded and it's brilliant. But back on the topic of fanfiction – I actually quite like the last third of this chapter, personally, but I'll leave you to make up your own minds. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Fifteen. Now We're Getting Somewhere**

- o -

_"Our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more."_

OSCAR WILDE

- o -

Nate is seemingly oblivious to just how hectic an evening it is. He's slept through the journey back from the lab, Sara's anxious packing, the hotel check in and now the transfer to Warrick's house as Warrick sets the travel cot down in his living room.

"I'll take the couch," Sara says immediately.

"No you won't," Warrick tells her with a grin. "You're not going to get away with that. I'm on the couch; you're taking my bed."

Sara rolls her eyes. "Warrick, no, it's not fair on you," she argues tiredly. But she's not in the right mood for an argument and, as she raises a hand to rub her eyes, she feels she'll probably lose this one anyway.

As she's sweeping her hair out of her eyes, however, she feels Warrick suddenly grab her wrist forcefully.

"Sara...hold still," he instructs in warning tones.

"Huh?" Sara looks up and follows his fixed gaze to her watch. Around the spring bar of the strap, a blond hair is curled and her eyes widen in surprise; it'd been there all along.

"It's too light to be yours," Warrick murmurs, holding very tightly onto her wrist. Sara nods.

"Too thick to be Nate's," she adds and groans frustratedly. "I didn't think to bag my watch with the rest of my clothes."

Warrick reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of tweezers and envelope, not taking his eyes off the hair. Very carefully, he tugs the hair out of the spring bar to thankfully find a follicular tag on the end of it, preserved only by the hinges of Sara's watch and by spectacular fortune. Neither of them breathes for a while until it's carefully sealed inside the envelope. Then Sara grins at him.

"What?" he asks.

"You carry those around with you everywhere?" she smirks, looking at the tweezers. Warrick sticks out his tongue.

"I just came from work," he alleges, pleased to see Sara's mischievous look back on her face.

"Sure you did, 'Rick," she teases. Warrick shakes his head with a laugh and picks Nate out of his travel cot once again.

"Sorry little guy," he whispers as he settles Nate back into Sara's arms. "Back to work."

-

They were still waiting, Catherine, Grissom, Greg and Nick, when Warrick and Sara rushed down the hall together. Catherine looks surprised – she hadn't expected him to find her so quickly, if at all and Nick braces himself for another tirade from Warrick on how he'd been right. But he doesn't launch into any angry attack, he's grinning wildly and hands Greg an envelope.

"Process this, Greggo – I wouldn't trust anyone else," he tells him breathlessly. "It's a hair we found on Sara's watchstrap. We think it could belong to the perp."

He beams around the room at the momentarily stunned faces before Greg pulls himself together and gets up to return to the lab.

"This is gonna take a while," he warns them, holding up the envelope before leaving the room. Warrick shrugs.

"You wanna head back then?" he offers to Sara.

She raises an eyebrow, folding her arms. "Only if you'll quit being such a gentleman and let me take the couch."

Warrick laughs slightly and grabs a cup of water from the sink, holding it out to her. "Fine – if you'll take your Demerol like you're meant to."

"Deal." Sara grins and shakes one of the tablets from the bottle out onto her palm. "Watch Nate when I'm asleep, will you?"

"Of course." Warrick nods as she swallows down the pill.

Nick smiles to himself. He watches Catherine and Grissom's surprised faces as they observe the exchange: wondering to themselves how they'd missed out on this happening, wondering whether either of the pair knew how they appeared to the regular onlooker – Sara gently handing the sleeping baby back over to Warrick amidst quips and banter as he watches her with something that runs a little deeper than customary concern.

"We'll be in again tomorrow morning, Griss – that okay?" Sara turns to their supervisor who only nods without words.

Warrick smiles and holds open the door as the two of them return to his Tahoe. As they walk down the corridor, the three remaining in the room see Warrick slip his arm comfortably around her shoulders but Sara herself doesn't seem to give it a second thought.

-

The Tahoe pulls back into the driveway of Warrick's house and he shuts off the engine quietly; Sara has fallen asleep in the passenger seat and he's careful not to wake her as he goes round the other side and opens the door. She stirs and wakes anyway when he reaches across to unbuckle her seat belt and gently pries his hand away.

"I'm fine – I'm awake," she tells him with a smile, "You get Nate." and stumbles out of the car as Warrick carefully handles the sleeping baby. As soon as he unlocks the front door, she's ambling tiredly in but heading with direction to collapse onto the couch.

"Are you sure you won't take the bed?" he asks her with a smile.

She doesn't answer except for throwing a sofa cushion at him and sinking deeper into the couch. Warrick laughs and lays Nate into his travel cot before returning to check on Sara. She's already fast asleep, knocked out quickly by the pain medication, and, with a smirk, he scoops her softly up in his arms. Warrick moves slowly and quietly, checking she's still asleep with every step he takes. With a sort of triumph, he lowers her delicately onto his bed and covers her over with the blankets.

In the morning, just before work, Sara will wake with confusion, thinking to herself that this wasn't where she fell asleep. As she becomes more fully awake, she'll realise what he's done with an exasperated sigh and get up out of the large, comfortable bed to wander into the living room. She'll find Warrick curled uncomfortably on the couch and will wake him by kneeling in front of him and lightly touching his sleeping face.

"You are a very sneaky man, Mr Brown," she'll chide him fondly and Warrick, half-asleep, will think he's still dreaming when he opens his eyes to the first face he'll see that morning and realises it's Sara.

- o -


	16. Partner Up

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**So here we go, some fluffy bad/goodness for you now (depending on where you stand on this kinda thing). First, I gotta thank the reviewers though because, my friends, it's tradition and you're wonderful. Thank you Veronica10, charmed1818, Megara1, Kelly, Aleja21 (aww, well I'm sorry to hear you had a miserable day.), roxxi, icklebitodd (okay, okay, I get the hint.), Review1234 (746 words. And why wouldn't you want to wake up next to Sara?), katymoonbeam (hope ya get over that cold...), Lizzy Sidle (yayyy), JennCorinthos, MissyJane, topsy and Joyce3 (damn right you're working on a new chapter...)**

**Also, many apologies to topsyt and Megs for not having the chance to thank you in the last chapter on account of being a bit messed up. That review, Megs, meant a lot - so thanks. Anyway, I'll get on with this and leave you to reach for those sick bags. But I'll just plug the write underscore impulsive Live Journal community first and then I'll be gone. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Sixteen. Partner Up**

- o -

_"We can live without religion and meditation, but we cannot survive without human affection."_

DALAI LAMA

- o -

It is still night-time, though a very long evening is drawing to a close, when Catherine pokes her head around Gil's office door and flashes him a bright smile.

"I'm off now," she tells him. "When you're done, come over. Lindsey's class is putting on a performance of Oliver and she got the part of the Artful Dodger."

"Isn't the Artful Dodger male?" Gil asks tentatively as Catherine comes in, shutting the door behind her, and sits on the side of his desk.

She shrugs with a smile. "What can I say? Lindsey's a better actress than the boys in her class. Anyway, we need someone else to help her go over her lines and I think you'd make one hell of a Fagin. Or Bill Sykes..." Catherine grins and Gil arches one eyebrow.

"And you'll be playing...?" he prompts.

"Who else would I be playing?" she replies. "Nancy."

Gil smirks, "This I've got to see. I'll be over as soon as I'm finished up here."

"Great," Catherine chirps and turns to go but Gil catches her hand and pulls her back around.

"Hang on," he says, "There was something I never got a chance to do earlier." and kisses her deeply. Then he smiles at her slightly surprised face and adds brightly, "I'll be round a little later."

Catherine laughs slightly. "Damn right you will." She mutters, pulling him in for another kiss. They lose themselves for a moment and that is why they don't hear Gil's office door open or someone step inside.

Greg looks up from the folder of paper work he was planning on handing over to Grissom and is stunned by the sight that he sees.

"Oh Christ," he blurts as the two of them spring apart. Greg heads towards the door. "Sorry. I'm sorry – I'll just...I'll go."

"No – Greg!" Catherine yells quickly and beckons him in. He shuts the door behind him. Catherine glances uneasily at Gil. "Greg, we're sorry. We should probably leave these things at home but we'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this. It just sort of happened and not at a very good time."

Greg looks pained. "So I can't tell anyone? Not even Nick?" he asks. Gil shakes his head firmly.

"Put it this way, Greg: if you do, word might get out about how it was you who switched all of Nick's sandwiches for peanut butter and jelly last week," Grissom warns him slyly. Greg pales.

"Oh no – man, he'd kill me!" Greg protests but Gil only tilts his head on one side slightly. Greg sighs huffily and rolls his eyes before leaving. "Fine. But you really should pick a more private place..."

Once the door has closed, Catherine turns to Gil with a grin.

"You have a pretty evil streak there, Gil," she smirks and gets up to leave. "You'd make quite some Bill Sykes."

Gil shakes his head with a chuckle and powers through his work so he can leave sooner – something he never thought he'd be doing.

-

Morning glints a crisp light into Warrick's living room and illuminates his house. It shines on baby Nate, still fast asleep in his travel cot. It shines on Sara standing in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee machine to finish. And it shines on Warrick, stirring a saucepan of scrambled eggs beside her, moving her out of the way gently, with his hands lightly on her hips, to pull a wooden spoon from a drawer.

Sara peers into the pot of fresh coffee and swirls it absent-mindedly. "Coffee?" she offers.

"Thanks," he smiles as she rattles through his shelves.

"Where do you keep your mugs, Warrick?" she asks vaguely. He reaches up behind her, opening the cupboard next to the one she was looking in and, when she turns around to him, she finds his face is curiously close. She doesn't move away – she doesn't move at all and, taking this to be a good sign, Warrick presses his lips against hers.

It is at that point that she realises why she's been fine with taking his help all this time. Why she phoned him up when she found Nate. Why she prayed for him to come and interrupt her attacker. It shocks her for a moment – she'd been hung up on Grissom for such a long time that, after those feelings finally faded, she hadn't expected ever to get them back. At least, not with someone who returned them.

She's still speechless when he draws back and her lack of response sparks a surge of anxiety in Warrick.

"Sara?" he murmurs, prompting her to say something.

"Warrick..." she begins in a voice that's unable to be read. She's not looking at him and he worries.

"If that was out of line, Sara – I'm sorry. I don't know why..." he flusters.

"No, no – Warrick, you're burning the breakfast." she cuts him off gently and he looks back to the saucepan, a trail of smoke wisping out of the slightly blackened eggs. He swears to himself and turns down the heat, trying to salvage the meal. Sara giggles slightly and rests her hand on his forearm for a while before heading out of the kitchen.

"Can I use your shower?" she calls back but doesn't wait for an answer. At any rate, Warrick's in no state to answer any questions with level-headedness.

-

Breakfast in the Willows house is slightly different, with Lindsey watching Uncle Gil over her bowl of cereal and digging her spoon into the Cheerios with a grin as Uncle Gil's voice gets deeper and more sinister the more he goes on.

"Well, I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears?" Uncle Gil croons, acting as best he can whilst sitting on the kitchen stool in his boxers and a t-shirt, reading from the script.

"Yes, Fagin – working hard." Lindsey responds.

"Good boys, good boys! What have you got, Dodger?" Uncle Gil cackles with a melodrama that makes Catherine, coming back from the shower with a towel on her head, laugh.

"A couple of pocket books." Lindsey rehearses before adding, "You know, you don't need to be so freaky, Uncle Gil." Gil grins, feigning outrage.

"That was my best acting!" he complains. Lindsey snickers and Gil rolls his eyes. "Sure, I'm no match for you. But that's why you're in the play and I'm not."

"And because you're a little too old," Lindsey adds tactfully. Gil laughs.

"Yes, that too." he says and smiles up at Catherine who drapes her arms around his neck, leaning her chin on his shoulder and placing a kiss below his ear.

"You going to come and see the play, Uncle Gil?" Lindsey asks eagerly.

"Of course he is," Catherine answers for him and Gil nods.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, honey," he assures the little girl who beams. Catherine fondly tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind Lindsey's ear and pinches a Cheerio from her cereal bowl.

"Hurry up, Linds – you don't want to be late," she chirps lightly before heading further into the kitchen for a mug of coffee.

-

The drive to work was quieter than usual between Sara and Warrick. It was a strange sort of tension that hung in the air: Warrick worrying that he'd been out of line with the kiss and Sara still trying pinpoint when, exactly, she started feeling like this about him. He pulls into the lab parking lot and pulls up the handbrake with finality as he turns to her.

"I'll drop Nate off at day-care," she mentions absently, rummaging in her purse without reason.

"Sara..." he begins and waits until she looks up at him. "I'm sorry if I was too forward this morning. It just...it seemed right. I'm sorry if..."

"No, not at all," she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "It _was_ right. I'm just a little mixed up right now." She smiles and decidedly kisses him.

Nick, coming in to start his shift, smirks with amusement, pleased to see Warrick's finally got it together and he enters the break room to find Greg sitting at the table, colouring in a paper fortune-teller.

"Glad to see you making good use of your time, Greggo," Nick quips as Greg looks up briefly.

"These things are great," he objects. "And I won't have you saying otherwise."

Nick only laughs and shakes his head, grabbing the seat opposite him.

"Well, as long as we're being sixth graders," he says. "Guess who I just saw making out in the parking lot?"

Greg rolls his eyes, still scribbling away with a red felt tip pen. "Oh man, don't tell me Cath and Griss have moved it to the parking lot, as well?"

Nick leans forwards. "What? I was talking about Warrick and Sara." his eyes widen. "Catherine and Grissom, really? Since when?"

Greg's face falls. "Oh shit." he mutters. "They _blackmailed_ me not to tell. You can't tell anyone, Nick."

"Sure, okay." Nick replies vaguely and smiles in wonderment out of the window. "You think somebody put something in the water here?"

- o -


	17. Brick Wall

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**No, I wasn't a major fan of that either but you'll hate me even more for this. You're gonna have to trust me though – trust me. Firstly, though, thanks to the reviewers Aleja21, icklebitodd (Full suit? You serious?), WSShippeR, JennCorinthos, Megara1, CatStokes, Review1234 (you make a good point... And very large.) charmed1818 (200th reviewer!), Joyce3 (take as long as you like on The Underdog, it's cool.) and MissyJane. I'm vastly impressed that I've made it to 200 and beyond so thanks huge amounts. Also many thanks to Danielle for the birthday ecard today! Here's the chapter you've nagged me about...  
**

**And for you GCR shippers, there will be no more GCR lovin' in this story (apologies), so I've taken the liberty of posting the first chapter to a short chaptered GC fic based on the events surrounding Gil getting locked in Catherine's bathroom whilst babysitting Lindsey for her (c/f Chapter Nine!). So I hope you enjoy that – it's called "One Mississippi" and should be up now. I'll plug write-underscore-impulsive, the LiveJournal writers' community, but it's gotten a great response and I'm very happy. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Seventeen. Brick Wall**

- o -**  
**

_"Man is a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason."_

OSCAR WILDE

- o -

It was one of the few things he always read without fail on his newspaper in the morning – or evenings, depending on which shift he worked – and it wasn't the cartoons like Greg always turned to, or the Science section that'd be Grissom's first stop before he pored thoroughly over the rest of the paper, it was the daily quotations that came under the letters and obituaries. Warrick didn't know why, he just always did and, leaning against Sara's kitchen counter, something in it catches his attention.

He looks up at Sara who is dashing from room to room, collecting up some clothes to change before work. Nate sits in his playpen, happy to be back amongst his familiar toys, and gurgles amusedly while Warrick casts a watchful eye over him. It'd been a week since she'd stayed the night over at his place and had since returned to her own apartment, bringing Warrick with him. He'd spent six nights on her couch, his feet hanging over the edge, even though Sara no longer needed the Demerol and could look after Nate fine. She'd never asked him to leave; he'd never wanted to.

"Sounds like you," he comments vaguely, still looking at the paper. Sara stops and looks up.

"What does?" she asks.

He reads aloud, "We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey." He looks to her and smiles but she doesn't smile back.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she questions defensively. Warrick holds up his hands in submission.

"Whoa – nothing – I just thought it sounded a little like something you'd live by." He's stepped into dangerous territory; that was stupid; nobody tells Sara Sidle how she lives. "It's not a bad thing..."

She says nothing but continues packing up some stuff in silence. Warrick turns back to the front page of the broadsheet, the rustling paper is the only sound in the room now – even Nate has fallen silent under the tense stillness. Warrick averts his eyes from watching her and gazes around the kitchen. On the fridge, he notices, held up by magnets, is a set of forms and a letter.

"You're adopting Nate?" he asks her, looking through the forms, eager only to change the subject quickly. "So soon?" He hears his own words only after he says them and wants to kick himself for being so stupid as to start on something like this after just pissing her off.

"Why not?" she replies sharply. Warrick recoils a little but still stands firm.

"I guess I figured, if anything, you'd want to give him back for a while until all this had been sorted out..." he trails off under her accusing glare.

"Why would I do that? He's a baby, Warrick – you can't just hand him over to someone else to look after if you're a little busy with your own life, you know," her voice is spiked liberally with sarcasm.

"But after all that's happened – you really want to have this on top of everything else?" he presses. "I mean – surely social services could take good care of him for a while?"

"Better than me, you mean?"

"No – no, not at all. You're wonderful with Nate," Warrick covers hurriedly.

"But?"

"But I thought maybe you'd need a break or something..."

"Jesus, Warrick," she sounds exasperated now as well as angry. "You really need to grow up, you know. This isn't some kind of game. You can't just take a time out whenever you feel like it. And how would it be good for Nate to pass him between different homes? You are just like every other naive person in this country who things that social services is the flawless solution. You really don't know how it is, 'Rick."

Sara's voice gets louder, dripping with cynicism, and her eyes burn fiercely as she continues, "You know, social services have a little difficulty packing off kids whose parents were manic depressives or convicts – I guess prospective parents don't want to have to fork out the cash for therapy in later years. They get hundreds of kids just like Nate all the time – you really think they have time to take special care of him and make sure he's infinitely happy? You really think he'd be better with them than with me?"

"I didn't say that." he protests as Sara gets more and more irate, gesticulating wildly as she talks. Baby Nate, frightened by the noise, the panic and the tangible fury in the air, begins to cry.

"But you implied it, didn't you?" she snaps, her eyes flitting between Warrick and Nate with aggression and anxiety respectively. "That's what you think, isn't it? That they'll sort things out so we won't have to deal with it ourselves. There are too many people like you who think that. You told me you'd be behind me on this, remember? And now – what? Now you're not?"

"No – that's not what I meant. I'm sorry," he tells her but cannot hold back from adding: "What is it with you and this whole mistrust thing with social services? Why are you so defensive?"

"Why am I so defensive?" she repeats with piercing incredulity. "While I'm planning on adopting Nate, you're suggesting I give him back. What is it, Warrick? Am I so bad at this that you don't think I should keep Nate anymore?"

"No, Sara – I just think –" Warrick begins but Sara cuts him off, furiously.

"You know what? I really don't care what you think, Warrick." Sara bites, bitterly. "And thank you – for everything – but I'm feeling a whole lot better now. I'm feeling damn great, thanks. So you can go now – I think I've got it from here."

Warrick stares dumbly. There is a ringing silence in the air despite Nate's continuing wails and she's just watching him with raging eyes, waiting for him to get the hint. He does. He takes one last look at her and, feeling something wrench deep inside him, turns away from her. Warrick lowers his head. In apartment 516, Warrick can hear a baby crying. And he walks out of the door.

-

Nick looks deep into his coffee mug before breaking the silence.

"That's tough, man." he tells Warrick heavily. Warrick nods and buries his face in his palms with a groan after relating the whole horrible argument.

"But you were both fine last week..." Greg says in wonderment. "I mean, I know Sara's...volatile...but still."

Warrick shakes his head, still not looking up until he speaks, "We were fine this morning. We made breakfast together and got Nate ready and everything. It pissed her off when I commented on how she lived but she just totally lost it when I suggested social services would sort everything out." Warrick sighs. "She made some long rant about how people like me are naive and think that social services are the perfect solution and how we don't know what it's like..."

Greg shrugs his shoulders and picks at the wrapper of his finished sandwich. It is lunchtime when Warrick eventually tells Nick and Greg, in the break room, why he'd been acting up all shift.

"She's the same whenever social services get involved in a case," Greg observes. "Maybe she just has issues with it, you know? Maybe it's her Thing."

Warrick arches an eyebrow. "Her Thing?"

"Yeah, you know how people have Things with stuff?" Greg speaks absently, peeling back the label on Nick's bottle of water. He looks up at the blank Warrick and wonders how to make it clearer. "Like how Nick has a thing with peanut butter."

"Why would anyone want to eat it?" Nick chips in suddenly at the mention of the food, his words muffled by sandwich. "It's disgusting!"

"See?" Greg says triumphantly. Warrick does not look convinced.

"Her Thing?" he repeats slowly.

"Yeah!" Greg enthuses.

"Greg," Warrick tells him seriously. "This isn't the same."

"Sure it is! It's her Thing!" Greg insists, excitement in his voice as he searches for more ways to explain. "She's like...she's fighting her corner!"

"Okay," Warrick says, speaking as though talking to a child. "But whilst Sara's 'corner' is the state-governed foster care system, Nick's is peanut butter."

"_How_ can you even call it a food?" Nick blurts out, clearly unable to hold back his feelings on the matter. "It's just wrong!"

Warrick looks between the outraged Nick and the eager Greg before shaking his head again, sighing again, and burying his head back in his hands. Grissom clears his throat in the doorway and all three of them turn to see him standing there.

"Warrick – can I talk to you in my office?" Grissom asks.

Warrick stares for a moment, his heart sinking. Is he going to have a go at him for sharing stuff about Sara with Nick and Greg? Is he going to bump him off the case for being emotionally involved? Or tell him to take some time off? Thinking that today, after such a great start, couldn't possibly get worse, Warrick follows Grissom reluctantly out of the room and into his office.

- o -


	18. When You Call

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Alrighty then – I'm updating. Thanks reviewers for all your ever-brilliant reviews, topsy, JennCorinthos, Aleja21 (must be those spidey senses...), Kelly, icklebitodd (definitely, I love writing anger, too.), CatStokes (hehe – is this better?), charmed1818 (Ditto – I'm not a peanut butter fan either...), Review1234 (very slick – 852 words. Of course, it's not quite 16 pages...), Megara1, Lizzy Sidle and MissyJane. **

**I'll try and make my next update faster because this is more of a bridge between two chapters. Visit write underscore impulsive, the Live Journal creative writing community, if you have time. But read (and review) this first! Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Eighteen. When You Call**

- o -

_"Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love still stands when all else has fallen."_

ANON

- o -

Shutting the office door behind him, Warrick stands awkwardly by the exit. Grissom gestures to the chair in front of his desk as he takes a seat behind it.

"Sit down, Warrick." Grissom instructs him. Warrick hovers by the chair but doesn't sit.

"Griss – if this is about me talking about Sara or whatever with Nick and Greg, I'm sorry. I'll keep my mouth shut next time," he begins to defend himself. "I'm not having such a great day but I know I shouldn't be letting that get to me..."

"Did I say anything yet?" Grissom cuts him off. "Just sit down, Warrick."

Warrick opens his mouth, about to continue his objection, but thinks better of it, closes his mouth and sits. Grissom is infuriatingly slow in making a response. He leans his elbows on the desk, removes his glasses with deliberation and looks directly at him.

"You were right to think that this is about Sara." Grissom says calmly. "But it's none of my business who you want to talk about with Nick and Greg, as long as it doesn't break down the team."

"No, no – it won't. I just needed to voice it," Warrick assures him hurriedly. He offers a weak smile. "Perhaps next time I'll just call my grandmother or something, huh?"

Grissom shrugs. "That might be an idea."

Warrick nods, wondering what's coming next. Grissom is still watching him intently and pauses before speaking again.

"Admittedly, I don't know the full story – only what I gathered from the end part of the conversation I overheard," Grissom starts, speaking carefully. "So I don't know what's happened between you two but I wanted to say that, after what's happened and what's been going on with the case and Sara, I think you've been very good with pulling your weight and helping her out. It never occurred to me that there might be something more than that until she took off."

Grissom thinks back to Warrick bursting in on him and Catherine, remembering the way the man's voice shook – the frustration, the confusion and the very raw fear. Warrick says nothing and Grissom goes on.

"I know it's not my place but, for what it's worth, you both seemed happy last week after you found her," Grissom tells him. "From what I've heard, the thing that broke this up was something seemingly very trivial. All I'm asking is that you cut her a little slack on this one, Warrick. If there are things she's not accounting for, it's for good reason. Give her some time."

"I know, I know." Warrick exasperates.

"Warrick – it's understandable how it's in your nature to want to know the facts about everything straight off," Grissom continues gently. "That's what makes you so good at your job – hell, that's what makes us all so good at this job. But I learnt a while ago that you can't apply rules from work to life. Especially not to people. I _know_ Sara, you understand. We all do; but there are some things for which she has her own reasons, reasons that she might not be so ready to volunteer. Give her a break, Warrick. Things haven't always been so easy on her."

"Yes, yes – I know." Warrick nods impatiently, not really taking in what Grissom is telling him. What is he doing telling him all this? And wasn't he the one to turn Sara away in the first place? Grissom was probably the worst person to take relationship advice from, especially when it came to Sara.

"No," Grissom says firmly. "No, you don't." He pauses again and looks at Warrick, smiling as he realises what's going through Warrick's head.

"You think I'm crazy for turning her down, don't you?" Grissom asks genially.

Warrick laughs awkwardly before answering honestly, "With all due respect, Griss – I always thought you were kind of weird; letting Sara go just clinched it."

Grissom nods and grins, somehow pleased with the response. "Good," he says. "Then you won't lose her over something like this, will you?"

-

Hours later, as his shift is ending, Grissom catches up with him in the locker room. Their talk had ended on that line, leaving a silence hanging in the air until Warrick was dismissed to get back to work. It had worked; the supervisor's words had been revolving in his mind all day.

So when he sits beside him on the bench and says, "I hope you thought about what I said."

Warrick truthfully replies, "Yeah – yeah I did." Warrick smiles grimly. "I've been a real jerk."

"No, I wouldn't say that." Grissom assures him. "But I was hoping that perhaps you'd thought about it enough to agree to go over there and keep an eye on her tonight."

"You can't get a uniform out there?" Warrick asks.

"I can but I'd rather it was someone she knew," Grissom furthers. "We got a match from the DNA of the hair on CODIS. A Tom Redley. There's going to be a raid at the last known address and I don't want Sara finding out about any of this until it's all wrapped up. I need someone to go over there – someone who will keep her from calling up the lab or listening to the police scanner or coming down herself. She's not on the case anymore but, if she finds out that we might be bringing in the guy tonight, she'll want to be."

Warrick nods – that did sound like Sara. "She might not let me in," he warns Grissom.

"Doesn't mean you can't still take that chance," Grissom answers, leaving Warrick alone in the locker room.

As he grabs his jacket and backpack from his locker, his cell phone begins to ring. His heart leaps up into his mouth when he sees Sara's name flash up on caller ID and flips open the phone to press it to his ear.

"Warrick," he greets, trying to steady his nerves. He rolls his eyes at himself; since when has he been nervous to have Sara phoning him?

He hears her sigh before he hears her speak.

"Warrick, it's me," she says, not even needing to elaborate on who 'me' is. "I just wanted to check that I hadn't completely freaked you out when I flipped out this morning." She speaks with forced light-heartedness, her lips still grudgingly holding back an apology she won't mean if she says.

"No," Warrick laughs uneasily. "No, I recovered."

"Good." she replies shortly. There's a long pause in which both of them wonder whether they should say goodbye. When Warrick doesn't say anything, however, Sara caves and adds in a small voice, "Are you finishing soon? Would you like to come over? I'll make you that dinner I promised..."

She trails off and he winces, both of them remembering where that promised meal had landed them, though it was difficult to say who, on either end of the line, found it a more painful memory to confront.

"I want to talk to you about something," she says quietly, breaking the sensitive silence.

"I'm off now," he tells her. "I'll be over in ten."

Sara waits until she hears the line go dead before she pulls the phone away from her ear and sets it back in the holder. Then she turns to Nate who's waiting to be put to bed and smiles.

"We'll try to keep our voices down this time, baby Nate." she whispers softly as she carries him off into his nursery.

- o -


	19. But You Linger On, Dear

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Thanks once again for the wonderful feedback, Megara1, nick55, CatStokes (Okay, fine, how's this?), spikes-storm, Review1234 (heh heh – I feel loads better, thanks!), Lizzy Sidle (got it in one, Lizzy! But shh...don't spoil it for Warrick), JennCorinthos, Aleja21, icklebitodd (thanks! I never thought Grissom'd be the kind of person to get all jealous over Sara either), MissyJane and Joyce3. Please continue to read and review!**

**And once more, I'm encouraging visitors, members and writers to my Live Journal creative writing community (write underscore impulsive). Everyone's welcome! But for now, I'll leave you to just read this chapter and, if you like it – or really hate it – review it at the end. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Nineteen. But You Linger On, Dear**

- o -

_"A confession has to be part of your new life."_

LUDWIG WITTGENSTEIN

- o -

Sara's grateful that he knocks only very quietly on the door, almost as though he knows she's only just got Nate off to sleep. He still has the spare key, she forgot to demand it back midst the morning's shouting, but he thinks it probably wouldn't go down too well to use it right now. She opens to door to him and they stand there staring at each other expectantly for a moment before Warrick finally finds his breathless voice.

"So," he begins. "What did you want to tell me?"

She offers him a half-smile and takes his hand, leading him inside. "Everything," she says. "I want to tell you everything."

They sit. Both of them sit at the dining table, hands wrapped around their own mugs of coffee that grow cold and un-tasted as she tells him. She tells him about her childhood, about growing up and about her parents. He never interrupts her further than the occasional word of sympathy or support when she revisits the night her father was killed. He tells her she doesn't have to go on, but she fiercely disputes this – she _does_ have to go on, she _does_ have to tell him everything because she wants to. She wants him to know. So he fetches the tissue box off her desk and sets it between them with a smile. She takes a small sip of her drink, just to keep her voice going, and then carries on: investigations, doctors, nurses, social workers, cops, carers, files, folders and more unwanted children – the foster care system, moving from house to house to house.

"The rape," she adds – words that curl cold fingers around Warrick's heart, "wasn't a first either." She smiles wryly into her coffee cup, choosing her words carefully. "Foster care kids get messed up. I guess we handle it differently. Some become quiet, withdrawn science geeks and some are just...angry." She shrugs her shoulders. "There was an older kid in the group home – I think he was sixteen or seventeen; I was thirteen years old – scared out of my mind. And nobody believed me; foster kids are always making these things up. You can't tell which ones are lying and which ones really need your help. I guess that was when it really hit me – that I was on my own in this, in everything."

It all comes as a bit of a shock at first for Warrick, but, as it sinks it, he realises how much about her it explains. When Sara draws to a close, her voice more tired and worn but lighter somehow and more comfortable, he stares into the darkness of his cold coffee before speaking finally.

"You never mentioned anything about it before," he says, rather lamely. Sara shrugs her shoulders.

"It just seemed too fragile, my life now." she admits, frowning in an attempt to phrase things properly. "I worried that if I looked back and saw it all again, remembered what it sounded like, smelt like, felt like – that I'll be back there and wouldn't find my way again. It sounds stupid, doesn't it? I just – I'm happy now, I really am, but I always worry that what I have now isn't strong enough to stand up against what I had then. That if I looked back now, I'd wake up and then growing up and moving on would all be just another dream."

"No, I understand," he assures her gently. "And since we're sharing, you might want to know why I grew up with my grandmother. It isn't an unhappy memory – I had a wonderful childhood – I couldn't have asked for more, growing up with someone who loved me. And I did get a chance to know my mother but she died when I was about seven."

Sara unconsciously reaches out and puts her hand on top of his across the table as he continues, staring down at the tabletop as though watching it all projected on there,

"I used to sit out on the – on the veranda, play in the dirt at the front of Gram's house with these toy trucks I had and watch the end of the street for when my mother's red Beamer came round the corner. I know Grams didn't much like me doing it; I'd get my clothes all dirty and would dig up her flowerbeds but she let me do it anyway because she knew how much I waited all day for that car.

"It was just this one time in August, I think, and she didn't come back. And the phone rang in the house, I was still outside waiting, and when my grandma came outside she was crying. I remember that part most of all because I'd never seen her crying before and I didn't understand. I just couldn't get what it meant for someone suddenly to not be around anymore."

He smiles weakly. "It was a car crash. It happens." Then he laughs slightly as he adds, "I guess we're not doing too good on the whole grandparents-for-Nate front, are we?"

Sara grins. "That's one way of putting it," she murmurs and then sighs. "Thank you for coming round. I wanted to let you know – I trust you, 'Rick. And I wouldn't want to keep things from you."

She gets up and pours her cold coffee down the sink. "You can stay if you like."

Warrick nods. "I'm good on the couch," he says quickly, not wishing to encroach on her anymore, especially after her long silence following their first kiss only last week. Sara shrugs her shoulders once more and throws him a blanket.

"Goodnight then," she calls, heading into her own bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Warrick sits on the edge of the sofa for a while, still taking in this whole day. He thinks about this morning, how this very room had been filled with her yelling; about everything Grissom had told him and how their supervisor had, as ever, been right; about how they must all be breaking down the perp's door now with the oblivious Sara drifting off to sleep; Sara – he thinks about Sara most of all. He lies down on the couch, pulling the blanket over him. It has been a long day and, curled onto the small sofa, he slips uncomfortably to sleep.

About ten minutes later, Sara creeps quietly back into the living room after forgetting her cell phone on the desk and she watches Warrick sleeping in an awkward position on her tiny couch. He'd always slept there, without complaint, but she smiles fondly at the way his feet stick out way over the edge and realises he must've been very uncomfortable for the past week, without saying a word.

It doesn't help that he moves in his sleep, either. While she's standing there watching him, Warrick rolls over in his sleep and falls with a thud onto the floor. She can barely suppress her laughter when he wakes with a jolt to find her standing above him.

"Come on," she whispers with mock exasperation and holds out her hand to him. He gets up, still partially asleep. She leads him to her bedroom and he wakes up just enough to realise where he is now standing.

"Sara..." he begins, about to launch into a warning about how he doesn't want to force anything on her. Sara rolls her eyes, knowing what's coming.

"If you want to spend all next year at a chiropractor, Warrick," she tells him sternly. "Be my guest."

He chuckles. Even late at night Sara can still muster up her usual standards of sarcastic quips – he should've known. Uncomplaining, he climbs into bed beside her and, spooning up behind her and curling an arm around her waist, falls asleep almost instantly anyway.

- o -


	20. Early Morning

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Happy December 25th Everybody! Sorry this is such a late update but, yknow, it was Christmas and I was kinda ill before – basically a lot of stuff came up but I'm back! With a very long, very fluffy (Sara – shield your eyes, my love! You'll be cringing into 2006...) chapter for all you readers and especially you lovely reviewers. I hope you're all having a wonderful time, wherever you are and whoever you're with.**

**Getting on with the thank-yous though; since it's Christmas and I took so long to update, I've left ya all a message. Though, whether that's a good thing or a bad thing is up to you... Thanks to nick55 **(and I am still reading The Coveted, by the way, it's still just excellent as ever) **Joyce3 **(I'm reading Better Memories now and formulating a follow-up chapter to your excellent addition to The Underdog)**, Megara1 **(I'm sorry, Cecile – it's just how I wrote it. The next thing I write will have none of that kinda stuff, I promise.)**, CatStokes **(and I love you too...)**, Kelly **(well, wait no longer!)**, JennCorinthos **(if that little bit of fluff got you, wait for this overload)**, Stephanie **(the pairings are epic, aren't they:p)**, Aleja21 **(Sure Grams is still around! I wouldn't kill her off**!), charmed1818 **(that's fine, review whenever you feel like it!)**, Review1234 **(I'll talk to you at length about everything at some point, so no special personal message right now... Although, this kinda is one...)**, icklebitodd **(Hell, I don't know what his favourite toy is! An old Snoopy toy that used to belong to Warrick?)**, Braelyn **(Thanks – getting characterisation right is really important to me)**, Cindy Ryan **(just...thanks!)**, MissyJane **(How soon is now? – to quote The Smiths)**, Krys33 **(thanks so much! That's a lot to catch up on!)** and Manic Penguin **(By subject matter, do you mean the whole rape thing? If you do, then I apologise. Megara had the same feelings about it – it was just how I wrote it and didn't intend for it to be offensive, if it was.) **Anyway, this chapter is already long enough without me talking for even longer, so I'll shut up and let you read. If you're still awake by the end, it's home-made mince pies all round. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Twenty. Early Morning**

- o -

_"There is no happiness; there are only moments of happiness."_

SPANISH PROVERB

- o -

A shrill wailing wakes them both at two o'clock in the morning. Warrick opens his eyes to the shaking baby monitor on Sara's nightstand and feels her stir under his arm. She makes to drag herself out of the warm bed without even opening her eyes but he gently grabs her and pulls her back.

"I've got it," he whispers in her ear, kissing her neck just below it before he clambers out of bed. "Go back to sleep; I've got it."

Sara sniffs appreciatively, rolling back under the covers and giving a short laugh. "Good luck." she mutters sarcastically and he grins; they both knew that if Nate woke up at any time after 1am, he'd be inconsolable and often cried for an hour before falling asleep again.

"Hey...hey, little guy." Warrick wanders into the nursery room and shuts the door, picking up the struggling baby and rocking him. "What's up, Nate? You hungry? You need changing?" Warrick checks the baby over but nothing's the matter and Warrick gets the feeling that this is just going to be one of those nights in which Nate decides nobody's going to sleep.

In the bedroom, Sara tugs the pillow over her head and drifts back off into a sporadic sleep as Nate's cries, though quieter, still resonate through the two-way monitor. After ten minutes of solid crying from Nate, Warrick begins to get desperate and, racking his brains for anything at all that might comfort him, inspiration hits in the form of a memory. He remembers Nate's liking of the jazz radio station whilst in the car to Desert Palms and, clearing his sleep-hoarse throat, attempts the first few notes.

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you..." Warrick sings in a low voice, slowly rocking the wailing baby. At first, Nate is not much pleased by the unsteady tune that wavers from Warrick's tired voice but Warrick, nevertheless, soldiers on.

"Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you..." Warrick's deep and throaty voice begins to calm the baby who reduces his unbroken howl to occasional whines and sniffs. His soothing voice reverberates lavishly down the monitor and Sara, half-waking, props herself up in bed by her elbow.

"But in your dreams, whatever they be..." Warrick goes on, looking down with a smile to see Nate unscrew his face and stare up at him with his round brown eyes. He can't believe he never thought of this before.

"...dream a little dream of me..." Warrick croons and then finds himself launching softly into the trumpet solo. Nate is lulled to sleep by the end of the solo and, laying him gently back into the cradle, Warrick tucks the blanket around the little baby.

"Dream a little dream of me," Warrick finishes, not being one to cut a legendary song off. In the blissful hush that follows, he suddenly notices another sound and he leans his ear close to the two-way baby monitor to listen to Sara's soft snickering through the speaker. A smirk spreads itself across his lips and he bends close to the monitor.

Warrick moves his mouth right to where the receptor of the baby monitor is and says in his best stern voice: "I hope you weren't laughing at me, Ms Sidle."

Sara laughs out loud, surprised and tickled by his sudden reprimand. He hears her laugh echo down the monitor and resound from the other room. It brings a smile to his face and he can't repress a chuckle as he pauses, waiting for her response. Instead, he hears her footsteps pad out of the bedroom and turns to see the door being noiselessly pushed open. She greets him with a gorgeous, sleepy smile – tousled hair and tired eyes.

"That was real beautiful, Warrick. I never knew you were so talented," she says with a grin. She moves automatically to the side of Nate's crib and gazes down at the sleeping baby, reaching down her arm and stroking Nate's face with one slender hand.

"I don't know how you did it," she muses aside to Warrick, reluctantly pulling her gaze away from Nate. "He usually goes on until morning."

Warrick smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "I guess that'd make me a natural," he answers smoothly.

"Shh – not so loud," she warns him in gentle tones, glancing back into the cot.

"It's okay; I can always sing him back to sleep again," he quips. Sara stifles a yawn and rubs her eyes.

"Huh, how about you sing _me_ to sleep, Mr Brown?" she teases. Warrick responds with a mischievous smile and slides his arms around her waist.

"That is a very good idea. You should get to bed if you want to work the dayshift today," he tells her before picking her up. Sara hoots with laughter before remembering their sleeping baby.

"Shh! Shh – quiet, remember?"

"Oh – sorry." Warrick sways with her in his arms as he carries her out of the room and down the hall – and he sings. "Stars shining bright above you..."

Sara giggles into his broad shoulder, her hands clasped around his neck. He pretends to ignore her laughter and carries on, louder and with more melodrama.

"...night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'..."

"Warrick, I don't see how this is going to help me sleep," she mutters into his ear, looking amused. He turns to face her with eyes that sparkle and lips that twitch in a smile.

"Ah, well – those weren't exactly my full intentions," he confesses playfully and studies her face before adding seriously, "I promise I'll be gentle. You don't have to – "

"It's fine, 'Rick." she cuts him off affectionately and, with one hand on the side of his face, presses a light kiss to his cheek. "You carry on."

He grins and resumes with the song, "Birds singing in the sycamore trees..."

Sara only smiles, thinking about how she can feel the tremor of his throat through the skin of his neck around which she is clinging; she can feel it as an irregular mellow buzz against her forearms, more so when he hits the bass notes. He nudges her bedroom door open with one bare foot and shuts it quietly behind them before laying her onto the bed.

"Dream a little dream of me."

-

It is morning. Sara unwraps her left leg from around both of his and carefully, so not to wake him, moves Warrick's arm off her shoulders as she shuffles slowly off the bed. She pauses for a moment and looks at him with a fond smile, sprawled sleeping on her bed – who'd have thought? – before finding herself something to wear and venturing out of the room to check on Nate.

Warrick wakes in the empty bed a while later and, pulling on a t shirt and boxer shorts, stumbles out of bed. He finds Sara in the open plan kitchen, staring across the counter, out through the french windows in the facing wall. Nate is patiently waiting in his play pen for his breakfast, a bottle of milk which has already been heated and is standing on the counter just in front of Sara, though she is miles away.

"Sara?" Warrick stops in the hallway.

She doesn't take her eyes away from the window but gestures for him to join her.

"Come here," she murmurs. "Come and look at this."

He arrives by her side and looks out of the windows. A magnificent orange and pink-streaked sunrise across the city rooftops spreads across the sky and fills the living room with a warming glow. He doesn't quite know what to say.

"I know it's a cliché," she says distantly. "But I like to just stop and watch it whenever I work days."

"It's beautiful," Warrick tells her, finding his voice.

"I know."

They stand for a moment, staring across the skyline and saying nothing before he turns to her.

"And what do you think about when you stand here in the mornings?" he asks, snaking his arm around her waist. She turns to him with a slight cheeky smile.

"I like to think of all those people out there who might be waking up about now," she says. "Hung-over and unwittingly married to some complete stranger."

Warrick laughs and shakes his head. "You really are something." Remembering, he goes to his jacket and pulls out a bunch of keys, picking one out and handing it to her. "Sara, I know it's kind of soon – but I've known you for years and anyway you'll need more space for Nate so I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd like to move in with me."

"You serious?" she asks, looking at the key in her hand.

Warrick shrugs his shoulders. "Well, yeah. If you want to..."

She grins and, leaning up to him, kisses him. With eyes still closed and lips still locked, she feels blindly around the kitchen worktop until her hand grasps Nate's bottle and she puts it into Warrick's hands as she pulls back.

"Mmm – feed the baby," she chirps. "I'm going to take a shower."

And she skips lightly out to the bathroom, bare feet on cold kitchen tiles, leaving Warrick to gaze warmly after her. He looks at the bottle in his hand and looks at Nate.

"Come on then, little guy." he says, picking up the baby. "Breakfast."

-

Minutes later, with baby sick down Nate's baby-gro and on most of Warrick, Warrick raises an eyebrow at the child and shakes his head.

"You did that on purpose," Warrick mutters to Nate and wrinkles his nose at the smell. "Right – what are we going to do about this?" And carries Nate off towards the bathroom.

The door is open and water running inside so Warrick enters, seeing Sara's outline through the fogged-up glass of the shower cubicle.

"Can we join you?" he calls above the splatter of water in the shower. "The little guy chucked up on us both." Warrick hears her laugh cheerfully.

"Sure, come on in – did he get any on the floor?" Sara asks as Warrick tugs Nate's puked-on baby-gro off and takes off his own clothes.

"Nope, just mainly on me." he answers, glancing down at his soiled t-shirt, lightly amused; he can't help but smile at Nate's innocent wide-eyed face that seems to know exactly what he's done.

"Oh well, that's ok then." Sara chirps cheerily and turns down the heat of the water as Warrick steps into the shower cubicle with Nate in his arms.

"Hey baby," Sara greet with loving delight and strokes Nate's face gently.

"Hello Sara," Warrick replies, smirking cheekily. She looks away from her baby boy only briefly to poke her tongue out at him.

"So I hear you spit up all your breakfast onto your Daddy, baby Nate." Sara murmurs brightly to Nate who smiles, from Warrick's arms, at the familiar face; it raises a broad smile on her own face too before she turns to Warrick, her expression having flipped to concern as he hands her the bottle of baby shampoo.

"That's three times this week, you know, do you think he might be sick?" she asks him, worried.

"No, no – don't worry. This is what babies do, right? He eats enough and keeps enough down anyway," Warrick reassures her. "He's alright." But she only sighs and shakes her head, rubbing shampoo into Nate's soft hair with a troubled frown darkening her face.

"I'm no good at this," she states, voicing what's been one of her main concerns lately. Warrick protests this, shaking his own head vehemently.

"Are you kidding me? That's not right at all," Warrick answers, immediately. "You slipped so easily into this role. I bet you never thought you'd fit it just so perfectly, to be honest, I didn't think you would, but you _do_. I don't think Nate could be happier with anybody else."

Sara says nothing for a while, listening to the water run off them both.

"Thank you." she says, finally, smiling softly up at Warrick.

"It's only true." he shrugs. "Everything I said yesterday – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound as though you weren't doing a good job at this. You really are; you're wonderful. And if you want to adopt Nate, I'll be with you all the way on this."

Sara smiles. "Thank you," she repeats and then finds the apology that had been repressed in her, "And I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been so rude to you. I'm surprised you came back at all."

"Yeah, I know," he grins. "It's fine, Sara – it's understandable." Sara nods and smiles, passing back the baby shampoo to Warrick.

"Hey...watch out..." Sara automatically reaches up her hand and wipes away the shampoo threatening to run into Nate's large brown eyes. Nate turns to her, smiles at the attention and reaches his small arms out to Sara.

"See? He couldn't be happier." Warrick passes Nate across. "There you go, little man. You hang onto your Mommy for a while. I gotta wash the puke out of my hair."

Sara giggles and cradles baby Nate whilst he explores her facial features with his small hands, hooking his tiny fingers onto her lower lip. She beams, making faces at the baby and kissing his little hands until he starts to chortle. Warrick lathers his hair in shampoo and contentedly considers the situation. This is where, he registers with small surprise, he always wants to be. In the steam-filled shower cubicle with both Nate and Sara's laughter echoing off the clean bathroom tiles, Warrick almost forgets case they're both involved in and doesn't even give a thought to the handcuffed Tom Redley somewhere in the city, waiting to be questioned.

- o -


	21. Temperamental

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Thanks once again to the reviewing public... I'm glad you liked the fluffiness of the previous chapter but, if I'm gonna be honest with you guys, it was also intended to soften a rather unwelcome blow in this chapter. Trust me on this – just...trust me.**

**But getting to the thank yous – thank you very much to charmed1818, Review1234 (I'm glad the fluff didn't kill you!), Aleja21 (heh heh! Lucky escape from baby puke?), JennCorinthos, Manic Penguin (thank you especially much for your very useful advice. I will bear this in mind for future reference and I hope you continue to enjoy the story), icklebitodd (I did have a good Christmas, thank you), Megara1, CatStokes, WSShippeR, Krys33 (Aw! I promise it won't happen again!), nick55 (hey, don't be so modest – I love all your WS stories.), Daisyangel (cool, I will most certainly check that out soonish), MissyJane (ha – you made me laugh with that shower scene comment...), SunnyNite and Cindy Ryan. **

**Please continue to review – you make my day! Anyway, brace yourself, friends, and just trust me. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx (PS. I fit a little GCR in here as therapy.)**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Twenty-One. Temperamental**

- o -

_"If you're in a bad situation, don't worry it'll change. If you're in a good situation, don't worry it'll change."_

JOHN A. SIMONE SR.

- o -

For the first time since either of them could remember, they actually didn't want to go to work that morning. Somehow, however, they dragged themselves out of the apartment, locking up and strapping Nate into his seat in the Tahoe.

The first face they see when back at the lab that morning is Grissom's. He looks tired for reasons that Sara doesn't know but smiles at the pair of them when they come in together.

"Thanks, Warrick," Grissom says he passes. "Appreciate it."

His voice is quiet, but Sara's ears are sharper and she turns curiously to Warrick.

"Thanks for what?" she asks instantly and Grissom stops. He was never one to lie but he doesn't even think when he answers.

"Sara – we matched the DNA from the hair on your wristwatch last night and paid a visit to the guy it matched, Tom Redley," he tells her, watching her face change from eagerness to surprise to anger. "He got a shot in the shoulder but he's stable. We'll be bringing him in for questioning as soon as the hospital allows us to."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Sara demands.

"You'd have wanted to tag along, Sar – it wouldn't have been right," Warrick tries to explain gently but she looks further incensed by his words.

"What?" she snaps. "You knew about this?"

"Sara, I told him," Grissom attempts to cover for Warrick. "It's my fault. I asked him to go round and keep an eye on you to make sure you didn't find out." He doesn't realise he's just made it even worse.

"What!" her voice rises with incredulity. Nate, in her arms, mildly protests at the blazing fight that's about to break out. Sara looks between Warrick and Grissom in outraged disbelief before turning and heading out. "Forget it. It's fine. I'm dropping Nate off at day-care." she mutters distractedly.

Grissom watches Sara's disappearing back for moment before looking at Warrick apologetically. Warrick stands despairingly in the hall and then chases after her.

"Sara – Sara, wait – please." he calls, catching up to her in the parking lot.

"Just doing your job, were you, Warrick?" Sara counters bitterly. "Just staying Grissom's favourite CSI? Well that's just great, you know – I thought you might've meant at least some of what you've done for me over the past few weeks."

"Of course I do. Why? Does it all mean nothing to _you_?" he asks her. "This isn't about work and you know that. Why did you call me, out of everyone, when you found Nate?"

"Because Nick would never forgive someone for waking him up at night unless they were dying," she replies smoothly and with a dry smile. "And even then he'd begrudge it. Listen, Warrick, I can be as detached as you can, so don't even start. Just admit it, will you?"

"No," Warrick protests. "No, because it's not like that at all."

"What is it not like, Warrick?" Sara bites furiously turning on him. "Like some babysitting gig? Because it sure as hell seems like that to me. I called you up and shared everything with you, thinking you came because you cared about me, but it turns out you were just acting on orders."

"No – that isn't right," Warrick objects. "Everything today and last night, I meant everything. You have to believe me, Sara – I would've come whether I'd been told to or not."

Sara shoots him a withering look. "Well it's all very easy to say that now, isn't it, 'Rick?"

Warrick stares wordlessly as she shakes her head reproachfully at him.

"What do you want me to say?" he challenges, finding his voice. "Yes, Grissom asked me to keep an eye on you and, yes, I knew they had tracked down the suspect but that has nothing to do with anything that happened last night. That has nothing to do with how I feel."

"And how do you feel, Warrick?" she inquires bitterly, with chilling sarcasm.

He takes a breath and rubs the back of his neck with hands that have started to shake. He'll tell her, he thinks, he should tell her. "I think..." he croaks nervously. "I think I've fallen in love with you."

Sara looks dumbstruck for a moment before spluttering, "You think?" She couldn't think of anything else to say. Warrick laughs awkwardly at her response.

"I don't know – I've never felt anything like it before so I guess I don't really know," he begins. "But if that's what it is to find everything about you just so beautiful, then I guess so. And this morning – this morning, I suddenly realised that everything was just so clear and obvious. It was like the first day of my life and I knew then that, if something had happened, the only regret I'd have was that I never told you this. That I never told you how happy you make me just by being the first face I see when I wake up. Does that classify someone falling in love? Noticing things like what you mumble in your sleep, or how you have this amazingly cute frown when you're thinking, or how your hair has all these different colours in it when the sun shines on it?"

"Okay, 'Rick – you can stop now," she cuts him off sharply, annoyed at the blush she knows he's risen in her cheeks. He smiles and shrugs with his arms out at his sides, offering up to her anything she wants from him. Anything at all. He's let everything go now – he's letting every defence down.

"So what do you think?" he prompts her quietly. Sara looks at him and then looks at the concrete floor.

"I think..." she murmurs. "I think I should take Nate to the crèche."

Sara looks up at him with eyes that don't burn with anger anymore, but almost offer a deadened apology. She turns quietly and begins to walk away.

"Wait, Sara – no, please don't..." Warrick blurts urgently.

Sara keeps walking.

-

Catherine watches Gil over the rim of her coffee mug as he yawns and stands to go.

"Did you get a chance to see him?" Catherine asks just before he leaves. They had all dodged the subject that day. "Tom Redley? Sara's attacker?"

Gil nods wordlessly for a moment and comments, "He doesn't even deserve to touch her, Catherine." He pauses, looking about to launch into a rant about the man but instead closes his mouth. "I shouldn't talk about it. I have to question the guy tomorrow and I need to be objective."

"Brass put that shot in his shoulder, I heard," Catherine adds, trying to lighten the mood. "Said it was all he could do not to put it in his head."

Grissom laughs, smiles at Catherine – someone who always could, without fail, cheer him up. "I know how that goes," he answers. Catherine wraps her arms around him plants a light kiss on his cheek.

"Go home – get some sleep," she tells him. "I'll come round when I finish up here – make you some dinner, okay?"

He smiles. "Thanks, Cath."

"No problem," she replies and watches him leave, passing a dejected Warrick in the corridor as he heads towards the break room.

Warrick pulls up a chair at the table and sinks his head into his arms against the tabletop. He doesn't say anything so Catherine grabs the chair opposite and leans across the table to him.

"Hey – 'Rick?" she begins gently, prodding his elbow. Warrick raises his head wearily. "Something up?"

He gives a bitter laugh. "Yeah." he says. "I think I was just shot down."

"Oh." comes her reply. She doesn't need to ask who by and, thinking of nothing else to say, rubs his arm sympathetically and furthers with: "You think?"

Warrick laughs heavily again, shaking his head and getting to his feet. "Don't you start, Cath," he says warningly, pointing a finger at her. "Don't even start."

"What?" Catherine asks but Warrick is already heading out of the break room to drown himself in a case, as alcoholics lose themselves in a bottle.

- o -


	22. An Open House With

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**This is also another pretty short chapter (well, short by my standards) but the next is shaping up to be a whole lot longer... Thank you for the fantastic reviews I received for the last chapter – I thought you'd hate me for ending on such an angst-y note! So thank you Megara1, JennCorinthos (wow, you've really got Sara's whole psyche down!), nick55, Juliette7179 (Aw! Happy belated birthday! I hope you had a nice time), Nikita1506 (Oh yeah – W/S over Snickers any day!), aleja21, Krys33 (Glad you liked it – I just couldn't resist sneaking some more GCR in...), charmed1818, MissyJane, Daisyangel (keep up the good work on that fic, my dear!), Review1234 (are you back yet?), Kelly, icklebitodd (your name is on the list!) and Joyce3 (that's fine! It was a great review so it more than covers both chapters!)**

**Anyway, onwards we go! Please do keep reading, reviewing and, most of all, enjoying what you read. And wish me luck for a pretty big exam I have tomorrow! I really should be revising instead of updating... Oh well! Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Twenty-Two. An Open House With...**

- o -

_"The first step in the evolution of ethics is a sense of solidarity with other human beings."_

ALBERT SCHWEITZER

- o -

It was a long and hazy shift for CSI Warrick Brown despite earnest attempts to try and block out the stinging rejection from this morning. Sara'd had her own shift cut short by Catherine who had noticed her own distracted behaviour and sent her home early. It was pointless both of them staying anyway – there was only one other case that could be worked on whilst the suspect serial killer was in the hospital and, with both of them avoiding each other, there was little hope of anything being done. Catherine had asked Warrick if he'd care to elaborate on anything – get things off his chest – but he'd looked at her blankly, clearly trying to avoiding confronting it for as long as possible and Catherine, who'd used that tactic many times in her life, was not about to lecture him on how unhealthy it was.

So he carried on. He spent the day in an injured daze, a thing that wasn't helped by his co-workers' sobriety over the idea of bringing Sara's suspected attacker, a man who may have already raped and killed three women before her, the following day.

It's only now, driving home alone with Nate's achingly empty car seat still strapped and unoccupied in the back, that Warrick starts to think back, facing what's happened and what might happen from this. Or rather, what might not happen. He wonders if, when he catches those strangely foreign and yet familiar glimpses of the couple and their baby in windows and mirrors, they will still have their faces.

He sighs heavily. If he'd known this morning that that was the first and last time he'd wake beside Sara Sidle, he'd never have gotten out of bed.

He steps down from his car, pulled into his driveway, and absently locks it before wandering up the path to the front door. Still dazed, Warrick drifts into his house, shutting the door behind him and vaguely headed towards the couch to collapse – perhaps try and sleep off the day. Of all people, he didn't expect to see Sara already perching on the edge.

She stands up when she sees him; she'd been sitting there, chewing on her nails, and waiting for him to come home.

"Hey," she greets him quietly. Some more of Nate's things are in the room as well as some more of her own.

Warrick looks around him and then back at her, shocked. "Uh...hi." Had this morning at the lab really been just some horrible nightmare?

"I was hoping that maybe your offer from this morning was still open," she says almost shyly.

"My offer?" Warrick can't remember.

Sara dangles the key he gave her from one finger. "To move in," she notices his confused look and immediately drops the key onto the table, embarrassed. "Right – yeah. It was stupid – and rude – of me to assume it was still okay after everything. I'm sorry – I'll go."

She's blushing now; her hand that once held the keys now has recoiled tightly within itself as though ashamed. How could she think that, after everything, she could still pretend things were fine between them? That was stupid. And now she's right here. In his living room. Making a fool of herself. Oh God, how she wishes she'd thought this through.

"No, Sara – wait," he stops her. "I think we have to talk about things." He sits her down on the couch again. "Yes – I am a little surprised, to say the least, to see you here after I put myself out there this morning, telling you I loved you and all, and then you throwing it back in my face." He speaks so wryly of his hurt that she even manages a small smile.

"I'm so sorry, Warrick," she murmurs, making to stand up again. "I really shouldn't have come here. I just thought I'd tell you that I lied about why I chose to call you that night I found Nate. And that I think...I think I fell in love with you a while ago. I just never stopped to think about it."

Warrick looks pained. "Why couldn't you have said that this morning?" he asks her. She shrugs her shoulders despairingly.

"There was so much stuff to take in," she confesses. "I didn't know where to begin. The team had arrested our suspect without me. You'd known about it and never mentioned it. Grissom had sent you over to baby sit me. That on top of the beautiful but frankly surreal early morning I had with you today – I guess you telling me you loved me was all too much to take." She laughs nervously, avoiding his eyes for fear of what she might see in them. Hurt? Anger? Or worse – indifference?

She snatches up her bag and mumbles, "I'll go now."

"Why?" he catches her by the waist. "Why do you have to go now? Isn't this how it should be – can't this be perfect? I love you, Sara. And, after what you've said, can't we move on from this? I don't want to let all of this go now."

Sara looks at her feet. "You shouldn't forgive me for how I acted today," she mutters to her feet. "You said it yourself: you put yourself out there and I threw it back in your face."

He stares at her, incredulous and, unable to think of anything to say that might correctly express himself, he kisses her deeply.

"Yes – it hurt but I should never have kept things from you," he tells her. "So listen, tomorrow they're bringing in the suspect for questioning. He was in hospital after Brass shot him in the shoulder during the raid. Grissom specifically has told security not to let you into the room when he's being interrogated. He's a little worried about me being there, to be honest."

Sara smiles, "Why?"

Warrick grins brightly, looking into her brown eyes. "Because I'll tear the guy limb from limb, that's why."

He casts an eye around the room at the stacks of boxes and Nate's flat-packed cradle.

In the delicate silence, his voice comes out only as a quiet murmur when he says, "You know, you referred to me as Nate's daddy this morning in the shower."

Sara looks at him for a moment, remembering.

"I know," Sara replies eventually, sinking a little into his arms. "I didn't realise until later – it just seemed right." And the smile on Warrick's face widens.

_Can't this be perfect?_

- o -


	23. Through The Glass

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Sorry it's taken me so long to update, so here's an extra long chapter. Thanks for the reviews, folks – that's to Cindy Ryan, JennCorinthos, Aleja21, icklebitodd (I promise, the next couple of chapters will have a lot of Nate), MissyJane (thanks for the luck! It was very much appreciated!), Jenuine, charmed1818 (thanks for the luck!), Juliette7179, Megara1, Nikita1506 and Lizzy Sidle (heehee, no problem!). Also, in answer to your question, SueBlue32, yes I do watch the show and if you insist on leaving ignorant reviews, please next time don't be so spineless as to leave no contact to talk about things like adults. Thank you!**

**So here you have it – Chapter 23 of 26. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Twenty-Three. Through The Glass**

- o -

_"Consult not your fears but your hopes and your dreams. _

_Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. _

_Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what it is still possible for you to do."_

POPE JOHN XXIII

- o -

There's just something different about starting your day with someone who you don't mind it when they steal the covers from you, Warrick muses in the drive to work. There's something better about starting the day with Sara Sidle who'll entertain you at breakfast with her vain attempts to get the majority of Nate's breakfast into his little mouth rather than all over them both. Sara, who'll slap you lightly around the head for laughing at her baby-food-covered appearance and challenge you to feed Nate instead while she takes a shower, where she'll subconsciously start singing a Beach Boys track but later deny it.

He smirks across at her in the passenger seat and she knows exactly what's going through her head.

"Even if I was," she mutters. "Which I wasn't – there's nothing wrong with The Beach Boys."

Warrick tuts and shakes his head, signalling into the lab's car park. "Cheesy pop," he comments lightly.

"It's good!" she protests but can't stop herself from laughing when she sees the outraged look on his face. She knows how much music means to him and comments like that can be considered blasphemy to Warrick Brown. It's what made making them so much more fun.

Halfway down the hall, however, the good feeling suddenly vanishes when the pair of them notice the two security guards standing smartly in front of the door to one of the questioning rooms. One of the security guards notices Sara too and watches her carefully as she passes. But Sara is, as ever, unperturbed and stops in front of them, trying to see past the door.

"Ms. Sidle," the guard says sternly. "You can't go in there."

"You know I was one of the first people on this case," she tells the guard, irritated.

"We've had very specific orders..." he begins but Sara cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

"Yes, yes – I know." she sighs and forces a smile for Warrick. "I'll catch up with you later." And with that, she stalks off down the corridor with Nate. Warrick watches her and then, taking a breath, goes into the room.

Tom Redley looks up at the fourth CSI to enter the room. Already sitting across the table from him were three CSIs, Grissom, Willows and Stokes and the homicide detective Jim Brass; Tom Redley couldn't really remember the last time he'd been brought for questioning, high on coke, but he doesn't think there were this many in the room at the time.

"So, Mr Redley," starts Grissom as Warrick grabs chair between Nick and Brass. Nick sits on the left side of Grissom; Catherine takes the right. "Would you like to tell us what happened on the night Katie Taylor was murdered?"

Redley scuffs his shoe on the floor like a child in the office of his principal before muttering, "Never heard of her."

"Really?" Catherine takes up the questioning. She slides a photograph of Katie's lifeless face across the table to him and then follows it up with ones of Marcia Keating and Susanna Jacques. "Do any of these jog your memory?" Her voice drips with sarcasm. "Katie Taylor? Marcia Keating? Susanna Jacques...?"

She pauses for a moment – they all do, knowing whose name should follow on that list. _Sara Sidle?_ Warrick stares with hardened eyes at Tom Redley.

"Don't know 'em," Tom replies, indifferently. He'd just been shown three photos of young women lying with their throats slit on their apartment floors and he didn't even blink.

"Well you should," Warrick snaps, leaning forwards. "You raped and killed them."

"Can I get a lawyer in here?" Tom Redley responds, matching Warrick's glare. "So this nut will quit making up stories about me?"

"Making up stories?" Warrick gets up, despite Nick trying to grab his arm. "The only reason why you stopped your sick routine of luring women out of their homes with your recordings was because your last victim survived, didn't she? You know it – you _know_ she did. So you had to stop playing your fucked-up game."

"Warrick," Grissom intervenes sharply. "Warrick, sit down."

Looking at Grissom for a moment, Warrick sighs and sits back down. Tom Redley smirks but says nothing.

"Mr Redley," Nick tries to take a calmer tone. "We've found DNA evidence on one of your victims the links you to her so you can't pretend you've never met her. Your last victim, remember her? Sara Sidle."

A shared flinch runs through the four of them and even Tom Redley's face changes if only briefly. Noticing this flash of weakness and hanging onto it, Brass reaches for the file and pulls out a photo of Sara, handing it to Redley.

"Here – Sara Sidle," he passes the photograph to Tom Redley. "Ring any bells, Tom?"

Tom stares so long and hard at Sara's face in the picture that Warrick cannot bear it longer and, slamming his palms on the table, jumps to his feet once again.

"She has a baby son, Redley. You saw him – he was in the room." he bites furiously at the man, snatching the photo from his fingers and flinging it on the table, not wanting to see it in Redley's hands any longer. "What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"Warrick," Grissom cuts in. "Warrick, please leave."

"What!" Warrick turns on him, incredulous, furious. He can barely spit his words out. "Griss, this guy – this bastard raped Sara. He raped my girl. And he would've killed her too..."

"We know what he did, Warrick," Grissom replies calmly. "But I'm asking you to leave."

"But – " Warrick can't think of anything else to say.

"Hey man," Tom Redley drawls with a smile and reaches for the photograph. "She's your girl? Well done. She was really hot."

Nick moves quickly. It must have been all those years playing high school football – he knew they'd taught him _something_ other than how to chug a beer like a pro. As Warrick, blindingly livid, darts towards Redley with a raised fist, Nick manages to grab his arm just in time. Warrick's whole body shakes with fury and Nick has to struggle to hold him back.

"Hey - relax, man," Nick murmurs to his friend. "He's not worth it, 'Rick. Let us sort this one out, okay?"

"Get out, please, Warrick," Grissom orders. "Now."

Warrick lowers his fist and looks from Grissom staring at him seriously, Catherine biting on her lip and Nick holding onto his arm, concerned. With a sigh, he turns to leave.

"You don't even deserve to look at her," he tells Tom Redley in a low and shaking voice as he walks out of the door. He takes deep breaths in the corridor and paces the shiny floors for a while, swinging his arms. He shouldn't have lost his cool like that in there, he knows. And now it's even more tormenting to not know what's going on in the room. He shouldn't have done that – but then again...Sara...

The door opens and Catherine steps out. She offers him a smile and touches his arm lightly.

"You alright?" she asks gently. He raises his eyebrows and sighs with his nod. "I know – I couldn't stay in there either. That man makes me sick."

"I just..." Warrick begins with conviction but trails off. There was nothing he could explain with 'just'. This wasn't a simple matter. He only looks at Catherine, knowing she understands.

"Here, come on," she leads him into the room adjacent to the questioning room to watch through the two-way mirror. In his rage, he hadn't thought of that but, on opening the door, they both see that someone else already did.

Sara has her eyes fixed on Tom Redley in the other room from where she sits on the edge of the table, both feet flat on a chair, and holding tightly onto Nate. She doesn't look up when they enter the room but already knows who it is.

"Sara..." Catherine goes to her, followed by Warrick.

"Hey Cath," Sara greets flatly.

"Sara, you're shivering," Catherine comments, noticing her pale and trembling hands that cradle baby Nate.

"It's cold." Sara responds in a dead and empty voice. Outside, the city is smothered in a blazing Nevada summer. Catherine doesn't want to say it though and, instead, lifts Nate from her arms.

"I'll watch him for you," she says.

Sara recoils slightly when Catherine touches her arm but doesn't object to Nate being taken away. Catherine throws a pointed look at Warrick, as though asking him to keep his cool this time round and to remember what's important here, and then she silently leaves the room. Warrick sits beside Sara on the table and looks at her though she stays staring at Tom Redley.

"That's him," she whispers. Warrick makes to take her hand but she clasps them both between her knees, huddled alone and not touching anyone.

"I know," he tells her softly. "We know it is – we'll get him."

It's just Grissom, Nick and Brass at the table now. Tom Redley has the eerie look of someone who knows they're winning at a game they shouldn't play. Two down – three to go. But Grissom has other ideas.

"So you admit to having met Sara Sidle," Grissom questions. Tom's face falls. He'd got him there.

"Yes. Once." he replies shortly.

"Would that be while you were raping her?" Brass asks. Tom bites his lip and Brass goes on, "Because you know you didn't kill her. And, in fact, you made the terrible mistake of attacking one of the best CSIs in the state. We have DNA evidence that puts you at the scene and a reliable witness to account for your actions."

"Why didn't you kill her, Mr Redley?" Grissom furthers. Tom stares at Sara's photograph on the table which smiles back up at him. "Why didn't you kill her like Katie Taylor? Or Marcia Keating? Or Susanna Jacques? What made Sara so different?"

Tom Redley looks a haunted man. He doesn't care anymore about sentences and lawyers.

"She wasn't like the others," Tom blurts out, not taking his eyes off Sara's picture. The three lean forwards; Tom Redley is coming clean.

"And why not?" Grissom presses quietly, not wishing to scare off the man's confession.

"The others shut their eyes and tried to pretend it wasn't happening," Redley murmurs, frowning hard at the photograph and visualises each attack, each rape, each death. "She was different – she looked right at me."

"Surely that'd be more reason to kill her," Nick suggests. "She I.Ded you. She'll put you away."

"She looked right at me and..." Redley repeats and trails off into a mumble.

"What was that?" Grissom leans closer.

Tom Redley looks up at Brass, Grissom and Nick as though he wants some sort of forgiveness now. Forgiveness for killing three women. Forgiveness for attacking their friend. It's needless to say he gets nothing.

"She looked just like her – she reminded me of my kid sister." he confesses in a whisper.

"How?" Sara begins quietly in the other room. "How does a man do that to a woman if he has a sister he cares about?" She turns to face Warrick and lets him when he pulls her into a tight hug.

"I don't know, Sara," he murmurs. "There are a lot of sick bastards out there."

Sara buries her face into his shoulder, losing herself in a feeling of security. "You didn't have to flip out like that," she tells his shoulder.

"Yes, I did." Warrick answers. She looks at him and smiles, resting her head against his chest as she glances back into the room. Tom Redley's wrists are met by cold metal of handcuffs and he's pulled roughly to his feet by a cop.

"Come on," she says, getting up and taking Warrick's hand. Sara leads him out of the room and stands in the hall as the door to the adjacent room opens. Warrick puts his arm around her waist and holds her close to him as a cop drags Tom Redley out.

The last thing Tom Redley clearly remembers before everything becomes a blur of city-owned buildings and cells, is seeing the cold and unforgiving expression in his fourth victim's brown eyes as he passes her in the hall. The man with her doesn't look at him, but only at the woman around whom his arms are wrapped. She should've been imprinted in his memory as The One That Got Away. She should've been remembered with bitterness as his downfall. But all Tom Redley will remember for his lifetime behind the same metal bars, is the way Sara Sidle never cried like the others. She never screamed or sobbed or begged. She just watched him as though she forgave him, quite a different look to the one he sees in passing now.

That last look will haunt him forever. It's him, now, who wants to cry. He wants to scream and sob at her feet. He wants to beg her. Forgive me, please forgive me.

Somewhere inside of him, his last scrap of humanity calls distantly through a cracked and rotten exterior. In his first night in jail, he gets the first taste of a nightmare that'll wake him sweat-drenched every night for the rest of his life: Sara Sidle, victim four, The One Who Never Begged just stares at him with her pitiless, hardened eyes. How many people had he let down? How many families are missing their daughters, nieces – sisters? He couldn't have dug that blade into her throat; he could never have found it in him.

- o -


	24. Speak Out

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Biology coursework is a bitch, isn't it, folks? Many apologies once again for this extra-late update. And after y'all brought me up to a mighty 300, which I am so very grateful for. Thanks, then, to Bizy, Kelly, icklebitodd (I'd reckon that Nate is not baptised or anything like that since Sara and Warrick don't strike me as very religious), JennCorinthos, Krys33 (Well, G/C makes most things better, let's face it!), topsy910, Aleja21, charmed1818, Megara1, MissyJane, Cherrydrops12, Malenkaya (thank you very much – characterisation is one of my biggest concerns), Nikita1506, Joyce3, Katiyana and Lizzy Sidle. And thanks to Review1234 for the chapter 22 review which momentarily crashed my computer – ha! And though you may be the World's Greatest Weenus, you're none of those other things on the list.**

**Alrighty then. These next two chapters are full of fluff and such. The previous chapter could be considered an ending for all those who stuck with the story for the case, and these next two will tie things up for the W/S-fluff lovers. (This is a warning to you, Sara – I know you're not the biggest fluff fan, so beware!). Anyway, many apologies for the lateness. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
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**Wake The Hope. Chapter Twenty-Four. Speak Out**

- o -

_"Hope is the pillar that holds up the world..."_

ARISTOTLE

- o -

ONE YEAR ON (_there or thereabouts_)

-

Leaning his elbows on the tabletop, Warrick clears his throat importantly and wonders where to begin.

"As I'm sure you already know," he starts. "The adoption was finalised last month and so I thought it would only be right if I talked to you about this first. I think you should know...wait, no, this is serious..."

Warrick rolls his eyes and fixes Nate with an exasperated look. Nate, eighteen months old and sitting in his highchair opposite Warrick, has grabbed hold of Warrick's lower lip and pulled it out with a delighted laugh.

"Excuse me, Nathaniel," Warrick attempts to speak despite his extended lip. "But I'm trying to say something very important here and I'd appreciate it if I could have my lip back."

Nate giggles and bangs on the table with his hands, freeing Warrick's lip.

"Thank you," Warrick nods courteously. "As I was saying – since this is concerning your Mommy, I wanted to tell you that I love her very much and will always take good care of her and you. So I wanted to ask you, if it's okay, could I ask her to marry me?"

Nate is silent for a while and stares curiously at Warrick. Unnerved by the silence, Warrick reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewellery box, holding it open to Nate.

"See, look? I've even bought her a ring," Warrick shows him. Nate gazes at the sparkling diamond and white-gold ring, holding both of his chubby hands out to the shiny object in the box with a beam on his face.

"So that's a yes?" Warrick asks him, scooping him up delightedly. "You'll let me ask her?" He spins Nate around in the air until the toddler starts laughing and then he stops, hearing a key rattle in the lock.

"Okay, that's her," Warrick tells Nate in a conspiring whisper. "Don't tell her anything about this, alright? You don't want to spoil the surprise, do you?"

Warrick smiles; he likes his late evening conversations with baby Nate before Sara comes back from work and they both put him to bed. Looking up now, he sees Sara come through the door and kick off her shoes at the entrance. She grins to see Warrick holding Nate and heads straight over to them both.

"Hey," she kisses Nate on the forehead and Warrick on the lips. "How are my two favourite boys?"

Nate gives her a long yawn and she laughs, taking him out of Warrick's arms.

"Tired, I guess," Warrick offers with a smile.

"You and me both, sweetie," she murmurs to little Nate. "And you didn't just work a swing shift."

Warrick strokes Nate's cheek lightly with a finger. "No, but we did have a very long and deep discussion."

Sara grins, carrying Nate off to his refurbished nursery upstairs with Warrick following behind. "About what?"

"Ah, now that would be telling," Warrick says mysteriously. He winds his arm around her waist as the pair of them stand by Nate's crib for a while. She stays silent for quite some time and Warrick looks at her with concern.

"Something up?" he asks. Sara smiles and sighs slightly.

"I was just wondering," she begins. "I was wondering, what do we tell him when he starts to ask questions?"

"Questions?" Warrick raises an eyebrow. Sara shrugs and slips both of her arms around him.

"Yeah, you know," she studies his face carefully. "Like why he doesn't look like you. Or why he doesn't look like his brothers and sisters."

Warrick's eyebrow arches further and a smile plays on his lips. "Brothers and sisters?"

"Yeah – one day?" she suggests. Warrick beams.

"That'd be..." he nods, looking for words. "That'd be great." It was such an understatement. He looks at the sleeping baby Nate and then back at Sara. "Well, then – I guess we'll tell him everything."

"Everything?" Sara looks dubious. "About the adoption?"

"Yes." Warrick answers resolutely.

"The suicide?" she furthers. Warrick weighs it up.

"When he's old enough..." he replies eventually. Sara pauses. Her lips begin to say something else but the sound doesn't come until later.

"The rape?" she says quietly. Warrick flinches and he doesn't meet her eyes. She knew it.

"Warrick," she sighs and brings her hands up to his face. "Warrick – do _you _want to talk about it?"

He still avoids her earnest stare. "I'm fine," he tells her flatly.

Sara rolls her eyes and turns his face directly at hers. "Warrick..." her voice is firm but gentle. "Baby – it's okay. I was raped. And sometimes, I guess, these things just...happen."

"It shouldn't have happened," he blurts. "Not to you."

"Why not me?" she objects.

"Because I should've been there." he insists. "You thought it was me so you opened the door. It wasn't. But it should've been." She shakes her head.

"No, Warrick – it was not your responsibility. I'm not your responsibility," she says softly. "It was a long time ago."

Warrick stares at her for a moment and is surprised find himself swallowing a lump in his throat. "It feels like yesterday," he croaks.

"Yes. It does." Sara answered bluntly.

She smiles optimistically at him and leads him out of the room back down to the kitchen where she pours them both some coffee from the jug and sits down at the table. He takes the chair opposite her and waits for her to speak again.

"You know what's strange," she muses out loud. "That apartment was meant to be just a short-term thing. When I rented it years ago, I figured I'd just be keeping it until I got settled. But you know how it is with work and stuff – you get caught up in the motions and you don't exactly find the time to house-hunt. I had always told myself – next month. Next month I'd find somewhere proper to live and start to take more responsibility for my life. But I never did."

Warrick glances at her when she takes a sip of coffee and then asks, "Do you wish you did?" Then he replays the question in his head and rolls his eyes at himself. "Of course you do – sorry," he mutters. "Stupid question."

Sara shakes her head and shrugs. "No, it's not a stupid question actually," she assures him. "And the answer is no. No, I don't wish I'd moved. Even after the attack. If I'd moved, I wouldn't have Nate, would I? And I wouldn't have you."

He chuckles slightly. "You always had me," he says and she smiles.

Warrick pauses, steadying his jumpy nerves. "Hang on, I need to just get something, Sara..."

He gets up and moves towards his jacket hanging by the door. Warrick slips his hand into the pocket and pulls out the small black velvet jewellery box. He checks the ring is still inside and a smile lights his face as he returns to where she's waiting.

- o -


	25. Speak Up

**Disclaimer: They're not mine**

**Rating: T or PG-13 for language and violence**

**Summary: It's 2am. The doorbell rings. A baby is crying. What are you going to do? W/S with GCR moments and a major case**

**Well, this is the last real chapter, guys! The next chapter will only be "Rosa Avery's Letter" – remember her? And I'm not making any promises on a sequel. That all depends on how many of you'd be willing to read it and if I get the right idea/more time. I'd like to thank you huge amounts to all you folks who've stuck with this fic and to those who found it and trekked their way through all of these chapters – it's always good to know that other people enjoy reading some of this stuff!**

**So here we go – I won't be sticking thank-yous in next chapter as it doesn't really count – so consider this a big THANKS to everyone. Especially to the reviewers of Chapter 24, Joyce3, icklebitodd, Krys33, Megara1, charmed1818, Nikita1506, Review1234, Megan-16-16, Crimsonhearted, Jenuine, MissyJane, Bizy, Lizzysidle, Kris, atruwriter, sye04, dark-girl-faith-sidle and sheel. I'm sorry the update took so long. And I hope you don't feel let down – I don't like writing proposals or weddings, by the way. I fear I'd overload of fluff and suffocate. I came close with this chapter! (You've been warned, Sara – cheese/fluff ahead!)**

**One last thing – check out "The Underdog" which is another WarrickSara (with some GilCath) fic that I've been writing with Joyce3 and Megara1. That's all from me for now – thanks again. Enjoy! Love LJ xXx**

- o -**  
**

**Wake The Hope. Chapter Twenty-Five. Speak Up**

- o -

"_...Hope is the dream of a waking man."_

ARISTOTLE

- o -

Catherine looks at her watch and then at Sara, sitting in the break room with Nate on her lap and chatting to Warrick and Greg.

"Aren't you only on later tonight, Sara?" Catherine asks.

Sara looks up with a grin. "Not pleased to see me, Cath?" she kids. "I'm just off actually – I came in to see if there'd been any new findings on the case but I guess _Greg _thinks that challenging Archie to potato-chip-eating competitions is far more important than getting case results to the lab." She rolls her eyes and speaks pointedly.

"At least I won!" Greg mumbles huffily.

"Well done, Greg," Catherine replies sardonically. "You want a medal?"

"No," Greg counters but adds in a quieter voice, "Maybe just a certificate."

Sara arches an eyebrow. "Saying what?" she says. "Greg Sanders: human trash can?"

It is at that point that Nate, perhaps feeling a little ignored in Sara's arms, chooses to break the silence that follows with the gleeful shout of: "Egg!"

Immediately, all four of them are upon him.

"What did you say?" Sara stares excitedly at baby Nate.

"He said 'Greg'!" Greg yells in the background. Sara kneels and sits Nate on the sofa.

"Sounded more like 'Egg'," Catherine comments.

"Yeah, I heard 'Egg'." Warrick agrees.

"Nate? Baby Nate? Can you say 'Mommy'?" Sara asks Nate with wide and eager eyes. He made a noise that certainly began with the letter 'M' although became ambiguous after that but to Sara and Warrick, who at that time could've heard anything as a word, he couldn't have possibly been more eloquent. Gleeful, Sara spins Nate around and hugs him to her.

"Say it again, Nate! Say it again!" Greg bounds up and down outside the tight circle of Sara, baby Nate and Warrick. But the sudden burst of loud noises and too much attention in such a small amount of time comes as quite a shock to the little eighteen-month old. His faces screws up and he begins to wail, turning his face into Sara's neck for comfort.

"Oh dear – time for a nap, I guess," Sara murmurs, stroking his head lightly. "Have a fun day – fill me in on everything later." She speaks mainly to Warrick and holds Nate out to his Daddy for a kiss; though baby Nate is still crying, both Sara and Warrick are beaming away.

"I'll see you later, baby," Warrick fondly brushes the hair away from her face. "Don't wait up for me." And, though she nods, she will anyway – they wait up for each other everytime they work separate shifts – that's just how it's become.

"He said my name first," Greg grumbles slightly.

"Sure, whatever you say, Egg," Catherine quips before clapping her hands together. "Right, everyone – these cases aren't solving themselves."

Sara nods and grabs her bag, kissing Warrick as he heads out of the room followed by Greg.

"I'll catch you later, Sara," Catherine smiles as she turns to go and then pauses, adding with a smirk: "Nice rock."

Catherine's eyes glint impishly as Sara grins. She knew Catherine'd be the first one to notice and she glances down again at her hand that cradles Nate to admire the white-gold and diamond engagement ring that, as of last night, decorates her finger.

- o -


	26. Rosa Avery's Letter

**Wake The Hope**

- o -

Dear Ms Sidle,

I don't know quite how to begin this; you probably don't even know who I am. My name is Rosa Avery – or Number 518, seeing as I never did get round to fixing my name down on my mailbox – I guess I won't have to now. This isn't a cry for help, Ms Sidle. Not for me, at any rate. I think I am beyond help and that's just how it is. I'm about to make a very strange request and I hope you won't dismiss it as the trivial demands of some mad woman who just happens to live in your building. This is serious, Ms Sidle. I don't know who else to turn to.

I won't bore you with the details of my life. It just a mess of mistakes and bad decisions made by one helluva messed-up person. I have a baby son, Ms Sidle – by the time you read this, you'll have met him. His name is Nathaniel. Nathaniel Avery – I'll put in a birth certificate and all the records I can find on him for you, to make things easier for you. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll cut to the chase, Ms Sidle – Nathaniel's better off without me. This is no joke – it wouldn't be very funny if it was. I've thought about this very hard and by the time you read this, you won't be able to stop me. I'd appreciate it if you'd just let me get on with it, anyway. My life has been a goddamn wreck from start to finish and it's time it was over. And this is why I've got all this information on Nathaniel for you. I know this might seem like a really crazy request, but I'm asking you to look after him for me. To be the mother to him that I never, never was or ever will be. I am sure that this will be the best thing I ever do for Nathaniel. Please don't make me wrong on this, too.

There's no-one else I can turn to; my ex-husband, Steve Avery took off before Nathaniel was born and there's no chance of him coming back to take care of him for me. That's just how it is, Ms Sidle – you fall for the wrong people and can't pick yourself up. Although I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that. But despite my whole screw-up of a life, please don't write this off as nothing. I thought this one through a lot. When I do something, I like to do it properly and I picked you out for a reason. You're a cop, aren't you? Or something like that. You seem the sensible type of person who wouldn't fall apart with something like this, not like I did. You'd know what to do – I'm sure you'll do the right thing. I watched you for a while, I hope you don't mind. You got up, you went to work and you came home. You never brought home sleazy guys late at night or anything like that. Your mail was always picked up on the morning that it came and you took your trash out every week. I think that if I chose to leave my son in any pair of safe hands, they would have to be yours.

This is an important request, Ms Sidle. I'm sure you can appreciate that. I don't mind if you want to tell Nathaniel about me or not when he grows up – I don't mind what you decide to do, so long as you promise me you'll love him and look after him. I know I can trust you to do that and that is why I'm not looking for any more therapy or counselling or help. I'm happy – strange as it may be – I'm happy with my decision. I know now that I can die and that Nathaniel will be fine. He will be better than fine, I am sure of it. He will be happier, better looked-after and more loved with you than with anybody else. I was never meant to be a mother, Ms Sidle. Things happen sometimes, things that shouldn't happen to us, but there's nothing we can do except deal with things the best we can.

And I am doing just that. Please don't think I'm just taking the easy way out. This is the best way to do things, Ms Sidle – you are the best chance for Nathaniel. It sounds crazy, doesn't it? We've never exchanged any words much past 'Good Morning' but I've thought about this for a very long time and I know what I am doing. You look responsible and you look grounded. And I also thought you could really love someone.

Thank you. I know you'll make the right decision.

Rosa Avery.

- o -


End file.
